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pentopaper23 · 6 months ago

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Collection of one shots revolving around Anthony comforting his siblings while they are injured or sick.

CHAPTER THREE: Daphne - Late Night Calls and Appendicitis

Ring-ring

A sharp ringing startled Anthony awake and he looked around his dorm room in sleepy confusion as he swiped a post-it note off his cheek. He had fallen asleep at his desk after finishing an assignment and pouring over some accounts related to the estate.

“Hello?” he said answering the phone as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Anthony it’s Mrs Wilson,” a panicked voice said from the other end of the phone. Anthony instantly woke up and leaped to his feet, his desk chair skating back with the force in which he stood. He could hear the sounds of a hospital in the background. The beeps of machines, the voices of the tannoy system and the sounds of people milling around the hallways.

“It’s Daphne my Lord. Poor thing has been sick for a few days, we thought it was just stomach bug. But now the doctors are saying it’s her appendix. They took her through to A&E but they won’t let us in. I have the doctor here you need to speak to him.” Anthony didn’t a chance to reply before he heard the phone being passed to another and a deep vice of a male doctor filled his ear.

“Sir, I am Doctor Whitesmith. I am the head paediatric surgent at Kings Memorial in Charcott. Am I speaking Viscount Anthony Edmund Bridgerton?” He asked in with quick formality.

“Yes this is he. What’s happening? Is Daph okay?” Anthony replied putting his phone down and on speaker as he started to rush around his room packing. He pulled his duffle out of his cupboard and started throwing clothes and bathroom items in it.

“My Lord we admitted your sister this afternoon for an appendicitis. Can you confirm that you are her legal guardian and are willing to give verbal approval for us to go ahead and remove it?” The doctor said getting right to the point. Anthony froze with his phone charger in his hand. Surgery? Daph needed surgery. He could feel the panic starting to fill his stomach.

“Yes, I’m her guardian.” Anthony replied flinging the phone charger into his bag.

“And you verbally approved for us to go forward with the operation?” the doctor asked again with an air of urgency.

“Yes, yes of course do what you need to do. I’m in Oxford, I will be there as soon as possible,” the young viscount replied.

“Was there someone you can appoint to look after things until you arrive?” Dr Whitesmith asked and Anthony could hear him click open a pen.

“Mrs Wilson. She has been our housekeeper since we were children, she capable of handling things until I arrive, please allow her to be with Daphene until I get there. I’m leaving now,” Anthony said zipping up his bag a little too harshly and hanging up the phone.

Less than twenty minutes later Anthony was speeding down the M25 towards Kent with panic now more then every settling in his stomach.

“Google call Benedict” he said, and a dial tone echoed around the car. His brother answered after two rings.

“Ant!” he said, and Anthony could hear crying in the background along with Miss Sharma trying to calm down whoever was crying.

“Benedict are you okay? Is everyone okay?” Anthony asked his fingers tightening around the stirring wheel, his knuckles turning white under the orange street lamps that lined the motorway. “I’m sorry, I should have called when she first got sick, but you had your exams and assignments due an I didn’t think she was that bad and Kate and Mrs Wilson were looking after her and Anthony….I didn’t…”

Anything could hear his brother falling into a panic attacked and needed to bring him back down quickly before he slipped to far into it. “Benny take a breath for me and put Miss Sharma on.” Benedict muttered a small okay, and for the second time that night Anthony heard a phone being handed over. The crying from before got louder and he heard Kate speak to someone, “I’m just going to put you down for a second my dear” and the crying faded somewhat.

“My lord?”

“I’m on my way to the hospital, I should be there in a few hours. Can you tell me what happened Miss Sharma?” Anthony asked kindly, it wasn’t Kate’s fault that Daph was ill, and she had been a steadfast employee from the moment he hired her.

“She had been ill for a few days with what seemed to be a stomach bug, the poor thing couldn’t keep anything down. But this evening she started complaining about a sore stomach, we thought maybe she had pulled a muscle from the vomiting but then she passed out in the bathroom. Mrs Wilson rushed her into the village and John, and I have been with the children since.” Kate rushed out, trying to give Anthony as much information as she could.

“Are the other… get out of the way!” Anthony shouted when a car switched lanes and then sat in the right-hand lane, “Sorry Kate,” he said as he pulled into the left lane and illegally overtaking the stupid driver. “How are the other children? Who is crying?”

“The others a fine. Benedict is helping me with Franny and Eloise, Miss Eloise is the one you can hear crying, she more over tired then anything but refuses to go to bed. Gregory and Hyacinth are upstairs asleep in the nursery, Colin is with them.”

“I’ll go straight the hospital and depending how she is I might be back at the house tomorrow some time.” He said taking a sip of the coffee he had grabbed before leaving his accommodation hall. Thank God for the late night cafes of the university campus.

“Understood Sir.” Kate said and Anthony could hear Eloise yelling his name over and over in the background. “Put her on please Kate.” He asked and he heard her bend down to pick up his sister.

“Ant,” Eloise sobbed into the phone and Anthony closed his eyes for a second. He hated when they cried and he wasn’t there to soothe them, it always pulled at something deep in his chest and he struggled to swallow. “Hello, my darling. What’s this I hear about you avoiding bed,” Anthony said trying to make light of the situation but knew he had failed when Eloise let out a hard cry at the sound of his voice.

“Are you coming home?” Eloise said continuing to sob around her words. “I’m driving now El and I’ll here there as soon as I can my darling” Anthony said as he yet again overtook another slow driver, “But in the meantime you be good for Miss Kate and head off to bed for me.” Anthony said softly and smiled when Eliose agreed and made him promise that he would be home tomorrow before hanging up.

The hour that Anthony spent speeding down the motorway was filled with silence and the occasional swear word at the other drivers. It was little under two hours later that he pulled into the hospitals carpark and rushed inside towards the nurse’s station.

“Anthony Bridgerton for Daphne Bridgerton,” he said as he came to a sliding halt in front of a startled nurse. She was looking at him in shock and shook herself slightly before taping away on her keyboard.

“Room 173. But Sir she is in the OR” she shouted as Anthony pushed through the swing doors and ran down the hallway counting the room numbers in his head as he went. He found it empty apart from Mrs Wilson who jumped up to pull him into a tight hug. It wasn’t common for the older woman to hug the young Viscount; rules of employee and employer were normally followed to a tee. But the older woman had been with the family since before Anthony was born and he could count on his hand the times he had witnessed the woman break protocol and be overly familiar with a member of the family. They stood in each other’s tight embrace for a few heartwarming moments before Mrs Wilson pulled back and wiped her eyes.

“They took her straight in, I didn’t get to see her before.” She said tears still welling in her eyes. Anthony put a hand over her shoulder led her back to the chairs by the bed.

“Did they say anything?” he asked taking a seat next to her. Mrs Wilson shook her head, “They wouldn’t tell me anything. I all but carried her in and they wouldn’t tell me anything after the wheeled her away.” Anything made a mental note to have Mrs Wilson and Miss Sharma added to as the kids emergence contacts and have them listed with the hospital as approved visitors. The pair sat in silence before Anthony said she could head home, claiming that Miss Sharma would nee help with the children. But in reality, he didn’t wish to see him have an emotional break down if the updates about his sister weren’t good. Mrs Wilson reluctantly agree and left him with a pat on the shoulder.

He tried to ignore the curious looks from the hospital staff as they walked pasted the room. Being Viscount of the estate and surround villages Anthony and the family were well known the local and many non-locals due to the UK tablots. The eighteen-year-old Viscount with seven siblings and dead parents was still hot news in the gossip world and not a week went buy that his name wasn’t mentioned in some shape or form. If he wasn’t getting married, then he was abandoning his siblings to party at Oxford. Both of which were not true, he had been photographed once at a campus party and that forever stuck as a failing on his part and evidence of his inability to run the estate and look after his siblings. He tended to ignore most of it now, but it still stung when they unknowingly hit a little close to home.

Running the estate was harder than he first thought it would be, there was meeting with the local tenant farmers about what crops to plant and when. Calls with the master brewers are the brewery to discuss the new line of beer and whiskey the had been working on and more meetings with horse trainers that ran the breeding side the stud. One top of all that he had monthly meetings with their lawyers and accountants and not to mention all the events that the Viscount was entitled to attend. On more than one occasion he had thought about dropping out of Oxford and focusing on the estate but never went through with it after he looked back on the work, he had put in to get to where he was. He would graduate and show all the naysayers that he could be responsible and live up the to duty his father had handed down to him.

As the hours dragged on, he felt himself slip into an uncomfortable sleep in the chair by Daphne’s empty bed. He would snap awake each time someone walked past the door and look searchingly towards the doorway for an update that didn’t seem to be coming. He pulled out his phone at one point and began Googling appendicitis surgeries but quickly closed the tabs when his stomach began to knot at words like complications and haemorrhaging. With a sign he sank back into the hard chair and crossed his ankles. Just as he closed his eyes a knock on the door frame snapped them back open. A tall man in green scrubs was standing there with a clipboard in his hand.

“My lord?” Dr Whitesmith asked, waving his hand to turn on the senor room light that Anthony hadn’t realised had turned off.

“Anthony is fine,” he said walking over to the man with his hand outstretched for a hand shake. The pair shook hands and Dr Whitesmith gestured for Anthony to take a seat, cold dread spread through Anthony’s body, and he numbly sat back down in the chair.

“She not…” he said looking at the Dr in panic. Dr Whitesmith shook his head, and Anything left out a gasp and nodded his head.

“She is doing well. She is in recovery at the moment, and it was a run of the mill surgery. WE unfortunately didn’t catch it time before it burst, hence why the operation took longer than normally would. But apart from that everything went fine. She responded great to the anaesthetic and when I left her with the nurses her was coming out of it fine too.”

“So, no complications?” Anthony asked anxiously his Google search flashing before his eyes as the Dr spoke.

“None, she will make a full recovery bar no infection in three to four weeks. The nurses will run you through some post op care before you’re discharged, and they will set up a post opp appointment with me in a few weeks so we can do some scans and take the stiches out.” Dr Whitesmith continued.

“Why the scans, you said there was nothing wrong.”

“It standard practice, with all abdominal surgeries. Scans are done to triple check for any internal bleeding. But if you do notice anything like pale skin, blue lips and fingertips or if she just isn’t right. Bring her back in even if its before our set appointment. Its better to catch it early or have false alarm then not bring her in.” Dr Whitesmith said jotting something on a prescription pad and handed it to Anthony, “These are some pain meds and antibiotics for her. Instructions will be on the bottle.”

Before Anthony could reply Daphne was wheeled by two nurses. Dr Whitesmith was the first to get up and speak to her, “There she is, all awake now sweetheart?” he asked kindly reaching out to check the pulse point on her wrist and adjusted her morphine drip before he and nurses left but not before telling him to buzz them for anything he needed and letting him know someone would be by soon to fold out the sofa bed for him. Daphne paid them no mind and struggled to speak, “Ant…” she slurred as the pain med begin to take effect. Anything rushed over to her side and took her hand in his, “Daph, I’m here.”

Daphne smiled a drugged up smile and loosely tightened her hand around his, “they said you were come” she slurred again, “I told them you would” she continued and Anthony smiled at the dopped out look on her face. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand as she slowly slipped back into blissful unconsciousness.

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foundtherightwords · 1 month ago

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As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 14

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: discussion of war and violence

Chapter word count: 3.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

Chapter 14

It was the day before Thanksgiving. Alba and her family had gotten into the habit of celebrating this American holiday since, as Papi put it, any holiday based around food was all right by him. After the success of the beach trip, Alba had planned on inviting Derwin to join them, but then Papi told her that they were going to celebrate with the Espositos this year—Mr. and Mrs. Esposito and their four children recently moved to Miami from Cienfuegos and wanted to thank Papi for helping them get on their feet. Alba liked the Espositos and looked forward to hearing news about her hometown, but she hated leaving Derwin on his own. And, to be perfectly honest, she hated being away from him as well.

"Are you sure you'll be OK?" she asked him for what seemed like the hundredth time, as she prepared to go home for the day.

"Perfectly sure. I can cook, I can drive, I'm not going to starve or let Otto starve." He glanced at her, his mouth lifted in an amused little smile. "It's just four days, you know."

Was it her imagination, or did Derwin look almost... relieved about the long weekend? Did he not want to be around her? Was she mistaken about his feelings for her? Was reading too much into it? Alba was peering at Derwin, trying to figure out what he was thinking, when the doorbell rang.

"Let me get it," she said and walked briskly down the corridor to the front hall. Otto was already there with his "stranger" barks, which were just loud enough to sound the alarm but not too threatening.

Alba held the dog back and opened the door to find a man dressed in full military regalia. Her heart skipped a beat—to her, the sight of an officer on the doorstep could mean one thing and one thing only. Then she remembered the war was over, and calmed down.

"Good afternoon," the officer said. "Is this the residence of Private First Class D.F. Grunauer?"

"Yes," she replied, warily. "Can I help you?"

The officer took off his hat and flashed her a dazzling smile. "You must be Mrs. Grunauer then. My name is Wilson, Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson. I'm a liaison officer of the American Legion post in Miami. I'm here to speak to your husband about a plan we are putting together to—"

Before Alba could correct Lieutenant Wilson, Derwin appeared behind her. "Can I help you?" he said, with far less courtesy than she had.

"Hello, Private Grunauer," said Wilson. "I'm Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson, of the Miami—"

"I heard you," said Derwin coldly. He didn't salute. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Well, it's like this. A veteran from Alabama called Raymond Weeks has organized a parade in his hometown to celebrate all veterans this past Armistice Day, not just those who died in the Great War, but those who recently served as well," said Wilson, sounding like a door-to-door salesman introducing the latest model of vacuum cleaner. "You may have read about it in the newspaper. Now, we at the American Legion think that this is a wonderful idea, so we're organizing something similar for the veterans in Miami-Dade County. Not this year, of course, but perhaps for next year. We're hoping that you can join us."

Alba could feel Derwin stiffen next to her, his grip on the cane tightening, his breath coming out fast and shallow. "I can't," he said.

Lieutenant Wilson's toothpaste-ad smile wavered. Then he saw the cane and nodded in mistaken understanding. "Ah, I see. If your injuries prevent you from marching, we can put you on a float—"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." It seemed to take a tremendous effort for Derwin to even say those words. "It's not about my injuries. I just can't."

Wilson's handsome face turned harsh. "Come on, Grunauer," he said sternly. "This is your chance to do something not only for yourself, but for your fellow soldiers as well." Then he softened again. "It would give your wife a chance to show off her husband, to be proud of you. Am I right, Mrs. Grunauer?" He turned to Alba, as if appealing to her for help.

"She has nothing to be proud of," said Derwin. Alba noticed that he hadn't bothered to correct Wilson. "Please don't come here again."

With that, he turned and limped into the back of the house, leaving a dumbfounded Wilson on the porch.

"Perhaps you can talk some sense into him, Mrs. Grunauer?" Wilson said.

Alba shook her head. "He said no. Goodbye."

She closed the door in Wilson's face before he could say another word and rushed through the house, chasing after Derwin. She found him in the study, slumped over on the couch, breathing hard. Otto stood close by with his head on Derwin's knee, looking up at his master with concern.

Alba gingerly sat down next to Derwin. In her mind, she was calling to all the saints of Cuba to strike down Lieutenant Wilson and the entire Miami American Legion post. How dare they! With just one visit, all the progresses Derwin had made, all the work she'd done in the past few months to bring him out of his shell, had been ruined. And for what, a silly parade?

"Derwin?" she said gently. "Are you OK?"

He didn't reply. His hands were trembling in his lap, and she longed to hold them, to calm him down, but she didn't dare touch him, afraid that any sudden movement would send him running from her as he had that day at Olson's.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

Still nothing.

She got up, found a notebook and a pencil on the desk, wrote a note, and pushed it toward him.

Do you want to talk about it?

He let out a little choking sound, half like a laugh and half like a sob, but remained quiet.

Alba sighed. "I'll give you a minute, OK?" she said. "I'll be in the kitchen." She got to her feet, but Derwin reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down.

"Stay," he said in a small voice. "Please."

She sat back down and waited. The grandfather clock out in the hallway continued to tick the minutes. Outside, the sun had gone down, and a cold wind was picking up, signaling winter was coming—one of the few signs of the changing seasons in South Florida. The usual chorus of insects in the backyard began, their tentative singing amplified by the silence in the study. It got dark. Alba turned on the little reading lamp by the couch, while Derwin still held on to her other hand. Satisfied that Alba was here to comfort his master, Otto had gone to sleep on his rug in the corner by the desk.

Eventually, Derwin sniffed and said, "You must think me terribly rude."

"No, not at all!" she said. "It was that man, Wilson, who was rude. To come here like that—"

Derwin shook his head. "It wasn't his fault. How was he to know?"

"Know what?"

He looked at her then. His eyes almost stopped her heart. She'd never seen such despair in them, such anguish in those dark depths. "What is it?" she asked, squeezing his hands in both of hers. "Please, tell me. I can't stand seeing you like this."

He just kept looking at her. She was afraid she'd lost him again, that he'd retreated into whatever shadowy corner of his mind where she couldn't reach. Then he said, "You know all those vandalisms on the house?" He looked away. "I know why they did it. There's a rumor that I—I killed someone in my unit. On D-Day."

"I've... I've heard of it," admitted Alba, and a look of surprise briefly crossed Derwin's face. "I never believe it myself," she hurried to add.

"It's true."

Alba stared at him, horrified. "What?!"

"I did kill someone."

"What happened?"

He let go of her hands and looked at the ceiling, remembering. "I wasn't even supposed to be there, you know. Their medic broke his ankle, so I got reassigned. The other guys weren't pleased. Only two of them, Ford and Boyce, were nice to me. But I don't blame the others. One thing you learn in the army, it's not to make friends with the new guy. You can die any moment, so what's the point?" He smiled joylessly. His voice was less hesitant now, as he lost himself in the memories. "Our mission was to knock down a radio-jamming tower on top of a village church, so the forces coming off the beaches could have air cover. But they saw us coming. They shot us down from the sky. There were eighteen of us. Only three of us came out alive, me, Boyce, and Rosenfeld. I suppose we were lucky. Some units were wiped out completely. It was chaos."

"Is that how you got—?" She gestured toward his cheek, his hand, and his leg.

"Not all of it at once. This was first." He pointed to the spider web scar on his cheek. "German flak was hitting us so fast that we couldn't see where we were jumping. Ford had to toss us out of the plane. A piece of shrapnel must have hit me on the way down. But I didn't feel anything. The moment we landed, all I could think was to find the others. That was our instruction. Find your stick. Take out that tower. But shellfire was coming down so hard and fast. And when I did find someone..."

He turned his eyes to the window, looking fixedly at some place in the murky distance, while his hand kept clenching and unclenching on his thigh. Alba put her other hand over his to still its agitated movement. Then, gently, she turned his hand, coaxing his fist open so she could lace her fingers through his, anchoring him. The gesture seemed to calm Derwin. He took a deep breath and continued.

"His name was Gurkin. Pete Gurkin. He was impaled by a propeller. I had no idea how he was still alive, but he was. I tried to give him morphine, or even just water, but he refused. He kept trying to reach for my pistol. He begged me to put him out of his misery. His eyes, they—" Derwin covered his face with his other hand. "I can see him now, as clearly as if he's lying right there. How his eyes glazed over and became lifeless, like a doll's eyes, the moment the shot rang out." He put his hand down and turned to her again. "Do you know what it feels like to shoot someone? I do. I could feel the kickback of the pistol all the way up my arm. Afterward, I just wanted to chop my hand off to get rid of that feeling. I can still feel it. It never goes away."

His voice broke, and Alba's heart broke for him. She pulled his hand into her lap, and then, because it wasn't enough, she drew him close and put her arms around him, holding him until his trembling subsided. "Shh, cariño," she murmured, using the term of endearment her mother had always used with her and her siblings. "It's all right."

"The other guys must have seen me. It didn't matter that Gurkin had half a propeller blade in his chest. They only saw me standing over him with a smoking gun in my hand." He trailed off. Somewhere in the swamp, incongruously, a bird began to sing, calling for its mate to come home for the night.

"Was it the other guys in your unit, the ones who survived?" Alba asked. "You've mentioned them. Boyce and—"

"—Rosenfeld. What about them?"

"Was it them who talked?" Now that her grief for Derwin had subsided, anger was rising to replace it. What she would do to those men if she could only get her hands on them! Derwin had risked everything to save them, and they couldn't even ease his conscience.

"I don't know. The last time I saw them was in the field hospital in France. They were looking at me like—" He swallowed hard. "Last I heard, Boyce stayed in France with a girl he met during the mission, and Rosenfeld was back in Illinois. It doesn't matter who talked. Perhaps it's my punishment," he continued bleakly. "The sins of the father and all that."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a horrible fear forming. If this rumor was true, then what else could be true? "What did your father do?"

"He fought for Germany in the Great War," said Derwin, his voice muted.

Alba let out a breath of relief, ashamed that she'd doubted Dr. Grunauer, even only for a second. "He didn't have a choice!" she said. She thought of her own Papi, always yearning for his old country, and of her brother, who gave his life for a country that wasn't his. "My own father turned his back on his country, left his friends to suffer under a new regime. Should he be blamed for that as well? No. He did it to protect his family. Your father did what he had to do. He didn't do anything wrong, and neither did you."

"Did I?" He sniffed into her shoulder. "The only time I fired a gun in the entire war, and it was to kill one of my own."

"What happened then?"

"It was all a blur after that. A plane crashed and exploded right next to us. And when we got away from it, we ran straight into a German ambush with snipers and landmines. That's how I got these"—he indicated his right hand and his leg—"or so they told me afterward, in the hospital in Portsmouth. Ford managed to complete the mission. But he was killed." His breath was hot against her neck. "He saved me, and I couldn't save him. I should've died too. I should've died with the rest of them."

"Don't blame yourself." She wrapped her hands around his face to lift his head and looked him in the eye. "You were there for Gurkin. You gave him peace. I wish—" She paused and swallowed. "My brother Raf... he was shot down in the jungles of the Philippines. He was still alive when his plane came down, but he was trapped in the cockpit. When they found him, they said he'd tried to get out, to find help. I can't imagine what he must have gone through, how agonizing and terrifying and lonely it must have been for him." On that horrible black day, when she opened the door of the bakery to find two somber-faced officers on the other side and knew it could only mean one thing, she'd asked them to spare her parents the excruciating details. Only she knew the true story of Raf's last hours. She had never told anyone, not even Beatriz. It hadn't helped. Her mother had been struck down just the same. "I wish he had someone like you with him," she said. "So he didn't have to die alone."

Derwin stared at her, his brown eyes glistening in the dimness of the room.

"You are a good man, Derwin," she said. "You have a good heart." She moved her hand from his face to his chest. "Don't let anybody tell you otherwise." Through his shirt, she could feel the thundering of his pulse. He put his hand over hers and held it there for a long, long time, his eyes never leaving her face.

And in that moment, she no longer wondered. She knew what to do.

She leaned over and kissed him.

It wasn't like the kiss in her dream. This was the briefest of kisses, just a brush of her lips over his, a testing of the water. As soon as their lips touched, she pulled back and sought Derwin's eyes. He was staring at her in shock, but she couldn't tell if it was a pleasant kind of shock or the disgusted kind or the angry kind.

"What was that?" he asked. His voice was quiet and gave nothing away.

"... A kiss?" she said.

"But—why?"

Because you were sad and I wanted to comfort you. Because you could use one. Because I think you should be hugged and kissed often. Because—Dammit, did she have to spell out everything for him?

"Because I want to," she said simply. "I've wanted to for a long time." And it was true, she realized that now. It wasn't just after the beach trip, or after they started spending more time together, or even after the storm. She'd wanted this for much, much longer, perhaps ever since the day he saved her from the alligator, or perhaps even longer than that, since the day he stood up to her in the schoolyard, before he even knew who she was.

Derwin's eyes sparkled softly at her confession. He let out a small breath that could have been of surprise, or relief, or both. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing across her lips, then moved to the back of her head, under her hair, and drew her closer, closer still, their mouths a hair's breadth apart...

Then, overexcited, his grip on the back of her head tightened, pushing her toward him too hard and too fast. Their noses bumped, their teeth clashed, their foreheads knocked together, and Alba saw stars.

"Ow," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Derwin said frantically. "Are you hurt?" He was trying to check her for injuries without touching her, which was impossible.

"It's OK. I'm OK." She smiled. Then she giggled. "Was that your first kiss?"

He looked offended. "It certainly was not! I went to boarding school, not a monastery!"

"Hey, you don't know what those monks may get up to." She grinned at him. "First kiss since the war then?"

He blushed. "Was it that bad?"

She pretended to consider it. "It could use some work."

"Like what?"

Beatriz's advice flitted through Alba's head. Never, ever make the first move. Boys will think you're easy and you'll get a reputation. But she'd already made the first move, hadn't she? And here he was, looking at her with those puppy dog eyes, begging her to make this easy for him, for both of them.

Hang her reputation. She didn't care what anyone else thought of her. She only cared about him.

"Like this." She took him into her arms and kissed him again, properly this time, just as she had in her dream. But it wasn't quite the same. In her dream, he was decisive, debonair, taking the lead and sweeping her off her feet in a passionate embrace. Here, his soft lips trembled under hers like the wings of a frightened bird, and she had to go slow, caressing his lips with hers, coaxing him into parting them. When she took his bottom lip between hers and gently pulled on it, he let out another breath of surprise, or relief, or delight, and finally, finally, he was kissing her back, with his hands cupping her face and his mouth pressing down on hers with a longing that was both fervent and tender, a longing that she also felt, first somewhere in her heart, then throughout her body as it turned physical, pounding through her veins.

The heavy chimes of the grandfather clock jolted her out of the spell. Seven o'clock. Mierda. She was supposed to be home hours ago.

"I have to go," she said a little breathlessly, pulling away from him. Derwin didn't try to hold her back, but he gazed at her, silently begging her to stay, and his hands remained wrapped around her cheeks. She gently extracted them, not without regret, and got up from the couch. "I'll see you on Monday, OK?" she whispered, before leaving the house at a run, afraid she would not have the strength to get away if she lingered for another second.

Chapter 15

A/N: So here we finally have the full account of what happened to Grunauer during the war. If you've read the script, you'll notice that I took the events of "Overlord" and twisted it a little bit so Grunauer was the one who found Gurkin instead of Boyce, and had to shoot him (in the script, Gurkin dies before Boyce could pull the trigger.)

Also, Raymond Weeks was a real person, often credited as "the Father of Veterans Day". The first Veterans Day event in the US was held on November 11, 1947 in his hometown of Birmingham.

Taglist: @kitkat80, @hahahafucku

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grunauer #grunauer overlord #overlord 2018 #grunauer x ofc

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steverogers-wife · 2 years ago

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Avengers x Scottish!OC

Hello! This is my first post on here so please feel free to let me know how I can improve :)

Summary: Fletcher Collins is a high level S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She is an incredibly skilled fighter, hacker, and has never missed a shot. The only thing she struggles with however, is people understanding what the hell she's saying. Set in 2020, Thanos never happened.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner.

Warnings: None

Part 1 | Part 2

Avengers POV

We watch and wait, as Fury reorganises his files for the fourth time since we've walked in.

"Fury", Natasha sighs, "We're all here, why are we waiting around?"

"As i've already stated Agent Romanoff", the man says, looking towards the team, "Not everyone is here."

Tony looks mock confused as he begins counting the people round the table.

"Well who else are we waiting on? We have hundreds of HYDRA files to go through and I feel like we're wasting our ti-", Steve begins, when he is abruptly cut off by a woman with fiery red hair walking into the room.

"Better late than never Agent Collins." The Director says glaring slightly at the woman, although the group can see the amusement in his eyes.

The woman shrugs at his remark, a slight smirk pulling at the edge of her lips.

"Now we can begin," the Director states, "You've all been working on taking down HYDRA for years, and although we all immensely appreciate what you've done for us all, we believe it's time to get rid of this damn organisation once and for all."

The Avengers look at each other confused at his statement, as if that wasn't what they were trying to do. Sam and Steve exchange glances whilst Bucky sits quietly, with a noticeable crease between his brows. Natasha makes eye contact with Steve, confirming they were thinking the same thing.

"Sir", the Captain begins, "with all due respect, what do you think we've been doing?", he finished with a slight cold tone.

"I believe it's time we speed up the process, hence why we are bringing in Agent Collins on the case. She has been working under the wraps for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years, and has been specialising in HYDRA for the past 8 years. She will be working with you all gaining intel from HYDRA, training you as well as going on missions with you until this has been sorted." The Director says with a sense of finality in his tone.

"Director I really don't believe we need addition help with this," Sam begins, "We've got the last few bases we just need to prepare the missions for them."

"Well Agent Collins has information that tells us different", Nick states with annoyance, "Please Mr. Wilson, tell us how you found those bases?"

Sam stutters, under pressure from the Director, "You uhh, you gave us the coordinates Sir?" He says, unsure of his answer.

The Director hums. "And where do you think I got those coordinates from?" He finishes, his gaze shifting over the woman, who is still yet to say anything.

"Wait she got us those coords?" Wanda asks hesitantly.

"Yes, she also has mountains of information regarding those bases as well as others, and plans to take them down. With her on your team, bringing down HYDRA will be a hell of a lot quicker." Fury says, bringing his gaze back to the team.

"Well what if we say no?" Stark questions, obviously not liking the idea.

"The decision has already been made Stark," Nick states, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Any questions?"

"Yeah, does she talk or does she just blankly stare like Buck", Sam says with amusement, earning an elbow in the rib from Bucky's metal arm.

"Oh she talks, she's just hard to understand. You wanna introduce yourself Agent?" Nick questions looking to the woman.

She shrugs as all eyes in the room turn to her.

Natasha sighs, "Why is she hard to understand?"

"Because she's Scottish, Agent Romanoff, with a very very strong accent. You'll get used to her and her slang soon enough. Meeting dismissed."

Agent Collins nods in the direction of the Director before making her exit, not giving her new "teammates" a single glance.

__________________________

Hiii! Please let me know if you enjoyed and would like to see more, i'll be aiming to do a good few chapters for this and they'll definitely be longer than this one. Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment any suggestions you have of what you'd like to see :) - Raea

#steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel #the avengers #avengers #tony stark #bucky barnes #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #scottish character #scottish

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wilsonfisk-thekingpin · 7 months ago

Note

Hello Sir,

I apologize for the sudden interruption, Mr. Fisk. Everything is going smoothly. I just wished to provide you with an update and then I will be out of your hair.

Just as you told me to I have been keeping an eye on them and Kelco Chemical's stock prices went up again, Sir. As did Roxxon, Atreus, and the subsidiary company that you had shown interest in. I don't mean to overstep, but now would be a good time to do what was previously discussed. Protecting our assets is always a top priority.

Also, the information regarding the two rat problems has been forwarded to your email. We'll have them exterminated by the end of the day today. It's already been paid for. It will not prove to be an issue anymore.

I've updated the list of contacts throughout the city. The surveillance team has eyes on all of the targets. All we need is a signal to go and everything will fall into place just as we discussed.

-My loyalty is to you

Wilson chuckled lightly, he seemed relatively happy for once. "Finally, some good news. Well done. Rest assured, I will make sure my end of this is taken care of. Have Leland come over to see me today. And, don't refer to them as rats. That's giving them too much credit."

#wilson fisk rp #marvel roleplay #marvel rp #mcu rp #mcu roleplay #ask answered

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world-of-aus · 4 years ago

Text

Family Matters - (Part 2)

Pairing: MobBoss Bucky! x Reader

Word Count:3,103

Warnings: no warnings that need to be counted for

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy chapter two, can’t wait for this series to really take off which it should in chapter three and onward. Thank you all for reading and as always my taglist is always open!

Chapter 1 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Taking a breath, you brought a shaky hand up to the bronze door knob, you were reluctant to twist it knowing it would more than likely be locked. These doors were always to remain locked, regardless of whether your father was attending to his business or not, “I don’t need any rats snooping around my studies” he would hiss glaring at you and your mother, and as a child you never thought anything of it but as you grew, you were right to heed those warnings or suffer the wrath of your father.

You twisted the knobs a shiver running down your spine when the door squeaked open. The door continued to swing open on its hinges while you stood there frozen, breath baited waiting to hear your fathers booming voice, but it never came. Hesitant steps drew you further into the room, shaky breaths slipped past your parted lips as you took in your father’s secret. Cold, dark, and eerie were just a few of the words that crossed your mind as you stood in your father's grand, luxurious, private space.

Looking at it now you couldn’t imagine your father having a hand in all the things Detective Stark had accused him of. You knew your father though, the type of man he was, he wouldn’t ever be caught with the like of mobsters, murderers, the sin of the city. At least you hoped you would have known him enough, but you were beginning to wonder if you ever did know who your father truly was.

Taking in more of the room your eyes finally fell on the substantially grand expansive flat-topped red wooden oak desk. Your eyes were drawn to the massive wooden structure, but what really caught your attention was the strewn stacks of manila folders and various paper work thrown around the top of it. Your feet carried you towards the desk, body rounding it as you stood in front of where you father was sure to have sat many times.

Shaky fingers ran through the strewn paper work, brows furrowing the deeper you got into it, there was various letter of foreclosures, dubious amounts of bank statements, and even the occasional printed email. You weren’t sure what any of it meant, but from the various red-penned markings you could only assume it wasn’t something in favor of your father. Pulling up the plush leather rolling chair you plopped your tense body into the chair, rolling yourself forward as you sorted once more through the papers, your fingers gripping a foreclosure notice.

Dear Mr. Y/l/n,

This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account #1234567. The current account holds the sum of 5,000 payable May, 27, 2020.

The amount has been overdue since April 27,2020, you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment or reconsolidate your debt.

Unless the full amount is received within 15 days, we have no choice but to begin with foreclosure on your home. We have given you more than adequate notice on this issue, and we have no other choice.

Please act accordingly,

Wilson Lending Inc.

Your brows furrowed deeper as you looked over the notice once more, this couldn’t be right, your father was never behind on his payments, and you would know, your mother was always on top of the finances in your house hold. Looking through more of the papers you stopped at what seemed to be an email,

Mr. y/l/n,

I’ve been nothing but a patient man with you, and frankly I’m growing tired, you wouldn’t want me to send my men to pay you a visit to you and your lovely wife, would you? Shame that your daughter is no longer in the picture, such a tragedy to lose a child. You have a week to get my money, that you’ve owed for seven years now, again, you either pay my money, or I'll find a way to collect, and I assure you Mr. Y/l/n, you won’t want me to have to come collect from you.

Your breath was caught in your throat, fingers stark white from the grip you had on the paper. Tragedy to lose a child, money, collect, you couldn’t fathom what you were reading. What in the world had your father done, what had he been doing under the roof of this house. You sorted through the next one, this one completely knocking the air from you, leaving you feeling more confused and worried than ever before,

Mr. Y/l/n

It’s a tragedy for me to be writing this email, but had I done this in person I can assure you one of us wouldn’t be breathing when it was over. Do you take me for a fool, did you not think I wouldn’t catch on to what it was you were doing? Working with the enemy, such a shame, I know you know this is unforgivable, you were witness to what happened to the other fellow who crossed me. It’s a shame though that you continued to do business with who you did, you’re the only one to blame for your fate. I would end this by saying see you soon, but we both know that won’t be the case. My condolences to your daughter.

The email after that was just eight words long, but it was enough to shake you to your very core.

I’ll be seeing you very soon Mr. Y/l/n.

You threw the papers down onto the desk, your body slumping into the seat, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here. None of these papers except for the foreclosure statement contained any sort of information that could help you to understand what it was that your father was involved with. None of the emails which were your main source of concern contained any sort of information of the sender, and seeing as it was printed there was nothing for you to further dig into. Why was any of this laid out here in the first place, was this meant to be found, did your father want someone to see this information?

The longer you set there and looked at those papers the more you wanted to scream, to cry, you were feeling just as lost and scared, fearful of the uncertainty as you did seven years ago. You were frustrated because you couldn’t understand what was going on, you couldn’t even begin to grasp the reality of your situation. You’ve lost your parents in a tragic accident, you’ve just found out your father worked for the mafia, or at least laundered for them it seems, and to add to all this it would seem that one of the men Detective Stark mentioned earlier wanted to collect from your father, but what was there to collect, your father was losing it all.

You could feel the underlying pins and needles of your nerves, what were you supposed to do, should you contact detective Stark, take him all this information and see what he can make of it? What if you did just that and he thought you had been lying all long, what if he accused you like he accused your father, what if he suspected you did have a hand in all this. You chewed on your lower lip in worry as you thought about the next worry, your mind going back to the emails, were any of those emails from Pierce, Rumlow, or Barnes, and was one of those the men that was going to collect. Thinking back to the first email, you couldn’t place why your father would apparently fake your death, unless you had a sibling you were unaware of. You were stumped and you were only growing more and more confused the longer you sat thinking on all this new information. You felt like your whole life was a lie, everything you grew up in and around was all fabricated to the lifestyle of your father.

You went to pick up the same papers but were jumping back into your seat when the office phone trilled on the desk. Your heart was beating wildly away in your chest, eyes wide as you looked at the noisy device. You stared at it unmoving, should you answer it, should you let it continue. You weren't given a chance to make the decision as the incessant ringing grew quiet an eerie silence filling the office once more. You stayed staring, once again jumping as it trilled again catching you off guard, it seemed to have gotten louder the second time. With shaky fingers you reached out picking the corded phone up and bringing it to your ear,

“h-hello?”

“Good morning, is Mr. Y/l/n in?” the voice on the other line questioned.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “No, I'm sorry sir, but my parents have been in an accident and they,” god you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“oh, I’m so sorry miss, wait did you say parents, are you Mr. Y/l/n’s daughter?” he questioned

“uh yes, I'm his daughter, may I ask what the reason for the call is?”

“oh yes right, well, I'm calling from Wilson Lending INC, I was needing to speak with your father, but since that won’t be possible,” a pause on his end an irritated sigh sounding through the line, “actually you wouldn’t happen to be y/f/n y/l/n would you?” he questioned.

“Uh yes actually that is me,” you murmured.

“that’s actually great, do you think you could stop by our office, there’s something I will be needing to go over with you, seeing as you’re the next of kin.”

“uh”

“great,” he cut you off, “I can squeeze you in for 30 minutes from now, so I’ll be seeing you here,” he chirped.

You could barely get a word in before the dial tone was sounding through the receiver, the call having ended abruptly. A loud sigh left your lips as you placed the phone back on the stand, your body slouching into the seat, what more news could you possibly take today you thought with a groan.

Thanking the driver your slid out of the seat, coat wrapped tightly around your shoulders as you looked up at the lavish building before you, Wilson’s Lending INC stared back at you in grey bold letters. A shaky sigh left your lips as you felt a sense of dread roll through you, taking tentative steps you pushed yourself to the revolving doors.

The office was quiet, the only sounds in the room was the tapping and clacking of a keyboard from the receptionist, sat a few feet in front of you. Having heard the door the woman looked up an almost bored expression on her unreadable features, “You can follow me this way, Mr. Wilson will see you now,” she mumbled. Your eyes darted around the room, but saw no one else was in the building other than you, “please,” she spoke up again, “follow me right this way,”

Trailing behind her she led you int a small office space, “right in here, Mr. Wilson is expecting you,”

Mumbling a quiet thank you, you watched her walk back the way she had brought you before turning your attention back to the office in front of you. Drawing further into the office you were met with a cheery smile and an ever chipper voice, “Good morning you must be Ms. Y/l/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man beamed as he stood from his desk to make his way over to you.

His firm was grip, his smile contagious, “Sam wilson,” he added, “owner of Wilson Lending INC, its in the name,” he grinned, “please come in take a seat,”

“since I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I'd like to go ahead and jump into it,” he spoke up after you had made yourself comfortable in your chair. You nodded your head allowing him to go on watching him sort through the papers on his desk, “Firstly I extended my sincerest apologies that we have to be meeting given the circumstances, my deepest condolences miss, such a tragic thing to occur,” he murmured.

You wanted to open your mouth to question that last bit that left his mouth but he was too quick, “Now in regards to your home, as I'm sure you knew it is now being foreclosed because of your father’s failure to pay, because of this before we go through with said foreclosure we are looking to hand over your home to the other co-owner, he has informed us he is willing to take it,”

Your brows scrunched in confusion, “co-owner?” you questioned, “what do you mean co-owner, are you speaking of my mother?”

Sam chuckled shaking his head, placing down the files he had down in front of him, “Your father had a co-owner but it wasn’t your mother,”

You slumped in your seat slightly, “why would he need a co-owner, shouldn’t it have been my mother?”

He let out a sigh, rubbing at his head, “Ms. Y/l/n, your father had a co-owner because alone he did not qualify to even begin the process to home owning, with more challenging lending standards when it comes to an individual's credit score, debt to income ratio, it was easier to qualify with the individual your father asked to co-own with him.”

A frustrated groan left your lips, the web kept weaving around you, “so what does all this mean, why was I called in?”

“It’s difficult to walk away from a mortgage when you have more than one borrower,” he began, eyeing you to see if you understood, “your father’s co-owner has kept up with his half but your father just recently was unable to make the payments, due to this the co-owner was called upon and has agreed to take over your home,” he paused eyeing you again, “the thing is if a co-owner dies their share goes to the other owners, in the co-owner ship a TIC agreement was signed where each co-owner can pass along their ownership through a will, meaning the remaining tenants might end up sharing the home with someone they never intended to.”

“this still doesn’t explain why I was called in, I'm sorry Mr. Wilson but you’re just confusing me further,”

He rubbed at his temples, “what this means, is that on a will your father passed his ownership to you, so I can’t necessarily just give your father’s co-owner the home without your approval now,”

A hand rubbed over your face, “so then give him full ownership,” Sam raised a brow at you, “Look Mr. Wilson my parent’s and I had a fall out years ago, if I can be honest with you I barely even know anything about them it seems, so if that is the easiest way to settle this for my father then so be it, I don’t even reside here anymore, so I can assure you letting the house go to someone who is more suited for it will be the best thing in this case,”

He was eyeing you, studying you, it was beginning to make you slightly uncomfortable, “is there anything needed from me?” you asked hoping to finish this up soon.

“yes, actually you and the co-owner will need to meet, he will need to buy you out, and you will need to be there to sign over given that you won’t have a change of heart,”

You raised your hand, “I can assure you there will be no change of heart,” you murmured, “how soon can we get this done, I don’t plan on being here longer than a week, I'm just here to sort out my parents things and I'll be on my way,”

“If it makes things easier, we can come to you, that way you won’t be pulled from sorting through your parent’s things, though I'm not sure there is much more to sort through,”

You raised a brow at his statement taken aback by the change of tone in his voice, “excuse me?” you questioned.

He smirked at you then, “no, not a thing Ms. Y/l/n, well that is all I have for you at the moment, Mr. Barnes and I will pay you a visit later this evening to go over the legalities of all this,” he grinned shooting you a wink.

You couldn’t help but be taken aback by the behavior as you stood on shaky legs pulling your coat and purse tighter around you. In your fraught state you almost hadn’t picked up on the name he uttered, almost.

“Mr. Barnes?” you questioned the name bouncing around in your mind as your remembered Detective Starks words.

He was grinning again, “Yes, Mr. Barnes, the co-owner of your home,”

Your face paled, heart dropping in your chest, “Are you okay?” Sam questioned his grin never faltering almost as if taunting you.

You nodded your head shakily before you were stumbling back slightly, a feeling of not being able to flee fast enough washing over you. You could hear his laughter sound through the building as you tucked tail and ran.

Hailing a cab you ran back home, your heart thumping wildly in your chest, you couldn’t get off the cab fast enough, handing the cab driver your money thanking him quickly as you made your way up the driveway. You needed to leave, none of this felt right, none of it, and with the information Detective Stark had shared with you, and the emails you had come across, you knew you needed to get out and fast you should have never returned in the first place, you should have listened to your father. You had made your decision as you rushed up the steps of your home head down not wanting to be spotted by any of the neighbors or cars driving down the street.

Searching through your purse for the keys you gripped them tightly as you pushed them into the lock, a gasp left your lips as the door was pulled open taking your keys with it. A tall, bearded, honey blonde stood before you a glowering look on his sculpted features. A shiver ran down your spine, as you back up slowly, another gasp falling from your lips as you back hit a wall of muscle. You turned your head ever so slowly, eyes drifting up to be met with a nefarious grin, deep piercing eyes, and a wicked mind.

“hello y/n.”

Chapter 3

Family Matter’s Tag-list: @broco8 @spideyxxboi @scuzmunkie @person-born-winchester @jennisahoe @rougeone0911 @ilovesupersoldiers

#family matters #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #mobster!bucky x reader #mobster!bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series au #marvel au #marvel au series #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years ago

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New Amsterdam Chapter 39

Peter shifted nervously in his seat and froze at the distinctive sound of cracking knuckles. How? How did this happen? He had the freaking Spidey Sense for crying out loud!

His eyes darted around the strangely mundane office. Of course he could get out, with no issue—if he wasn’t afraid of revealing his other identity. He was going to have to do something; he didn’t think they’d just let him off with a warning.

He’d been lurking in an alley, camera around his neck, hunting for something to use against the Snipers. He’d trailed the three he’d come across in silence, so completely focused on them that he hadn’t noticed someone was behind him until his sense screeched at him mere seconds before a hand landed on his shoulder. He’d been grabbed by two nameless goons who’d bundled him up into an empty van before driving him halfway across the city to haul him out behind a building (in a surprisingly good part of town) before wrestling his camera away and leading him to this office. They’d plopped him in the chair, and here he sat—waiting.

Peter would have to be an idiot not to know where he was. There was only one person who would have goons in that territory who lived in this neighborhood. He was sitting in the home of one Wilson Fisk, also known as Kingpin.

The door to the small room opened and Peter jumped in surprise as the large man entered with unusual (at least until someone considered his past boxing career) grace. “Mr. Parker,” the man said calmly as he walked to the desk. Peter’s eyes were drawn to the large hand holding his camera—and making it look like nothing more than a large candy.

Peter swallowed. Fisk knew his name. He certainly couldn't use any Spiderman stunts now—at least as long as he wasn’t in immediate risk of dying. “Sir,” he said respectfully.

Kingpin nodded. He set the camera on his desk, but Peter knew better than to believe that it was safe yet. “Tell me,” said the man, “what you were doing.”

It was an order. An order that could easily get him in trouble—but there was no reason not to answer it. He was in trouble either way. “I was following the Snipers,” he confessed. The large, heavy-set man in front of him snapped his gaze up, focused on Peter. Who swallowed hard. “Sir,” he added.

“Why?”

“I want to get the police interested in them.”

One thick, sausage like finger, tapped the desk next to the camera. Peter tried not to wince every time it came down—if he tapped the camera like that he’d destroy the thing and Peter didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. “The area you were caught in,” Kingpin said, eyeing Peter with his ice blue eyes, “happens to be one that my—associates were paid to protect. So they brought you here.” The finger stilled. “Do you know why you’re still alive?” he asked darkly.

“No,” squeaked Peter nervously.

“You are still alive for two reasons. One; there is not one single shot of one of my people on this camera.”

Of course not. Peter hadn’t been looking for Kingpin, after all.

“And two, I personally feel that the Snipers are religious fanatics. I don’t approve of their vendetta against New Amsterdam’s street children.”

“Sometimes,” a husky voice behind Peter confided, “the Boss will give us plates of food to leave out.”

“I look at those children and look at my son…” Fisk shook his head. “There is a third reason.” When Peter didn’t respond, not sure of what to make of these revelations. Wilson Fisk, feared crime lord—had a soft spot for the street children? “My anniversary is coming up and I want to do something—special. Something not everyone does. And I want you to take pictures of it.”

Peter stared, eyes going wide behind his glasses. “Me?” he asked, incredulous. Why him?

“I’ve seen the pictures you take of Spiderman. The Bugle aside,” added the large man with a slight frown, “the pictures are well done. Why do you sell them to the Bugle?”

Peter risked shoving his glasses up with his wrist. “They pay me,” he said shortly.

There was an odd, crackling noise coming from the large man in front of him. After a moment of stunned silence Peter realized he was laughing. “That,” said the large man, physically composing himself, “is priceless. And true; the Bugle does pay.” Peter nodded nervously.

Those piercing eyes focused on Peter once again. “Now,” he said firmly, “I can’t let you go stalking the Snipers. They’re paying me for protection and it would be bad business. However,” he said holding up his sausage-like finger, “I can offer something else. How would you feel if I told you where to find proof of Runaways Unite’s dark secrets?”

Peter had known, from the first day they’d shown up in New Amsterdam, that Runaways Unite was up to no good. He’d done his best to protect the street children from them, even as the citizens of the city proclaimed the non-profit as a heroes for “taking care of the children.” To be able to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt—something that could show just how horrible they were—priceless.

The Kingpin nodded. “Ah. I thought you might prefer that, given your association with the street children.”

The door to the room opened again and a woman, tall (but shorter) than Kingpin, with silver streaked black hair walked in. She looked around the room and frowned before turning to Wilson. “You promised you weren’t going to bring work home,” she told him tightly.

“This isn’t work, Vanessa,” protested the large man.

Peter quickly stood up and held out his hand. “He—hello,” he stammered. “I—I’m Pe—Peter Parker.”

She looked at him. “Sing,” she ordered. When he blinked in confusion she continued, “It is physically impossible to sing and stammer at the same time. Sing.”

A little nervously, Peter complied. “Your husband is hiring me to take pictures,” he sang. It worked! He was going to have to remember that and weigh the benefits of being thought insane over being thought a loser.

“Pictures?”

Kingpin shifted nervously in his seat. “Our anniversary is coming up,” he reminded her.

Her face softened and she went over to him to kiss him on the cheek. “You big softy,” she said sweetly.

“Yes. Parker, I’ll contact you with the details,” Fisk said firmly glaring at the boy. Peter nodded, scooped his camera off the desk, and fled.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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blushing-starker · 4 years ago

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For my Gracie dear. What would I do without you in my life? Merry Christmas darling. @vaguekiwi

"Well, you wouldn't really be in this position if you had accepted my proposal, baby cheeks. In fact, I'm practically drooling over the thought of you saying fuck it and coming to visit with a few surprises beneath that second skin you're rocking." Two sentences, two very different tones of voice, both trying to coax him in. Reprimand and flirt, the only possible courses of action for Wade when it came to them.

"So I guess it's true what they say; chivalry died when you were born, Wade. Every single conversation between us is proof and the world knows it." He grinned as soon as he heard the exaggerated gasps over the landline, always loved these tennis matches with his partner in crime.

Sure, the 'red devil' of Cliffwood often threaded barely subtle, often outlandish innuendos into their interactions and never denied the neighborhood a chance of seeing him draped over Peter, but it was, God forgive him, fun. Exciting and a little thrilling.

And also past their bedtime. So to speak. "I gotta go and I know Wanda likes to cook late. Go help her in the kitchen, Mr Gifted Hands. Vision might give me an A in the next exam if I told him I encouraged you to make his favorite lasagna." It won't happen, obviously. The Maximoffs, because Vision had adopted the name on his second date with Wanda long before their wedding, were usually chaotic neutrals that tried sticking to the right side of the law. Hopefully, Mr Maximoffs' morality would at least allow the man to add a five point bonus on Peter's next physics test.

"Oh, you finally admit my hands are gifted, Mr Parker? How forward of you." If there was one thing that he loved about being friends with the incorrigible Wade Wilson, it was how the man oozed sex like it was nothing. His surety in it, in flirting, in courting and joking made Peter feel at ease. Most people, even those like Mr Rogers with his slightly conservative views, enjoyed Wade's antics because they were harmless.

Most of the time. The guy had slept with two thirds of the town, after all.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Wade. What would Vanessa say of-"

"Please, the woman basically throws me at people in the hopes of watching me sleep with them."

"you being with me before her?"

"..."

Peter squinted at a shiny red nail, worried he'd somehow messed up Morgan's job of decorating him in the Christmas spirit. The lamp next to the couch is a tad dimmer than usual, right, he has to swap the bulbs. He'd completely forgotten in the midst of playing with Morgan and Rocky, baking them brownies, battling the upstairs shower mold, decluttering the toy boxes and throwing something semi appealing for dinner. There was a spare light in the, was it the garage? No, his memory had been reduced to physics laws and the kids' allergies, but Peter's sure he would have noticed. Maybe Morgan had hidden them in the office, Rocky liked chewing on light bulbs so it's not too unlikely

"Shit, Parker, now I'm thinking about that, Jesus. Christ on a bicycle! Hmm? It's nothing, Wanda, just Peter being a brat and a tease."

"Hey, I'm not a brat!"

"Says you. I bet a certain member of the awesome facial hair club could evidence the opposite. Actually, I'll go right over and ask, hey!" The sound of Wade distinctly face planting onto the Maximoffs couch sent Peter into enough hysterics he could barely make out what Wanda was saying.

"I sincerely apologize for the little devil-"

"I'm almost two heads taller than you!"

"that can't seem to mind his manners no matter how many times we try to teach him how to be human."

"It's," God, he's wheezing like a freshman first day of gym with Coulson, "perfectly alright, Miss. I'm the one that should say sorry for keeping him up so late, I know he has chores to do around the house. Lovely Christmas lights, by the way. I think you guys might win the competition again this year."

There's a tiny worm of guilt crawling up his throat; how could he distract Wade when Wanda had her hands full with an energetic baby ready to sprint out of the house at any moment?

"Oh sweet Peter," she drawls out the vowels, like they're honey and she's trying her best to stretch them out, savour them, "you really think so? I thought the yard looked perfect, but Vision insisted on decorating the roof to 'ensure our win against my dear brother in law'. And please, a happy Wade that's finished his teasing for the day is wonderful for us. He cleans faster and doesn't kiss my cheeks as much."

"Wait, you did the roof?" He knew the Maximoff siblings were intense, had witnessed Pietro stabbing flamingos into Clint's lawn just to add some color to his already bright remodeling a weeks ago.

"You haven't seen it? Tell Morguna's father to take you outside to see it while the kids are watching television. That way you can go back with an excuse if you get too nervous with him."

Peter spluttered, ignored the fact his cheeks were flaming, pretended he couldn't hear Wade's howling through the phone. "I don't, I wouldn't, it's not like, I mean. The, the kids will probably sleep early tonight."

"Perfect, you won't have an excuse and he'll finally kiss you. Oh, Vision. Hello, dear, I'm saying goodbye to Peter. That idiot might kiss him tonight."

"Hello? Hello, Peter. I'm very happy for you both; but may I request you kiss after midnight? I'm afraid I made a substantial bet regarding that kiss and was hoping to get Clint back over Banner and Natasha."

Great, he'd died and entered a hell where the only thing he could do was stutter and flush crimson. Typical Parker luck, really.

"SurebyeMrandMrsMaximofflaterWade."

He slammed the phone back on its pedestal, dove into the leather couch and screamed until his throat ached.

--------

"Daddy? Peter, daddy's here! Don't let him go to our room until we're done with the Christmas card, please!" He yanked his head from under the cushions, scrambled to the door, tripped over Morgan's race car, narrowly avoided the destruction of Rocky's Lego chop shop, hastily stashed a pink apron in the drawers by the door, failed to straighten his sweater (a gift from the kids' grandmother) and took all of ten seconds to fix his hair before opening the door. In the exact moment the owner of the house leaned against it to enter.

There's a second where realization kicked in, worry is splashed over both their faces, he darted forward to help so the man's heart didn't shut down on them right then, said man wanted to preserve such a young, healthy body; they tried to control the damage.

They failed. Spectacularly. Crashed into each other, somehow elbows and knees sunk into bad spots, bone snapped, ligaments wept in pain, a chest became winded, one of them got a black eye and the other a constricted throat. This was, of course, before it started raining and two idiots got drenched while piled up on the front door.

Peter gasped, wasn't sure whether it was better to lie under his dream, his wet fantasy, his goal in life or allow his brain some oxygen.

To be fair, this would only happen the once. He could breathe for the rest of his lonely life.

"Uh, welcome home, Mr Stark. How was work to, today, sir, that's not my thigh." Wade would know. Jesus, Wade would find out Mr Stark touched his dick for the first time and it wasn't even on purpose.

"Kid, I'm so sorry. Here I was wondering if I could give you your Christmas gift without ruining the box and now look at me. Peter, you don't have to come back to work if you don't want to-"

"Wait, you got me a gift, Mr Stark?"

"I will pay you for this whole month, obviously." The man shuffled back, attempted to shakily stand up like a foal and immediately slid down onto the sleek young man.

"Not come back to? Mr, ow, Tony, I'm not going anywhere. Not on Christmas, not ever. Look at me." Don't look at what's between my legs, Peter prayed, don't look at how you are between my legs, don't look.

Tony Stark glanced down, inhaled sharply and snapped his gaze to the au pair's. He may have leaned against what he hoped was his Christmas gift. Maybe.

"I'm not leaving, Mr Stark." The rain kept drizzling into the house, his throat continued to ache, the distance between their two bodies remained the same. But there was something in Mr Stark's eyes now, yes indeed, something Peter had resolutely ignored for the past six months while working with the sweetest family he'd ever known. It was the same something Wade yelled about when talking about his best friend's employer's face as it regarded the au pair.

"I think Wade might kill me if -"

"Rhode's is gonna choke me out if-"

"Are you two gonna kiss or not?"

They risked whiplash to peer right at, or, in Peter's position, upside down at Morgan and Rocky who unflinchingly stared at the ridiculous site their fathers made. Rocky even shook his head the way Tony did when he was disappointed. Little Morgan criss crossed her arms and Peter thought he'd sob because that's just how he taught her.

"We were going to put mistletoe on the door when you came in; we finished the holiday card months ago so that was the one thing left on the to do list."

"Months ago? I helped you two make one last week!"

"Oh yeah, how were you going to hang up mistletoe, daughter mine? There's no nail." A soft thwump over the doorway. It seemed Clint had given Morgan her own bow. And she knew how to use it.

They collected their courage, scraps of reduced pride, some drool and a tiny drop of sweat before turning to the man they'd been waiting for for so long.

"Mr Parker, will you do me the honor of bestowing a kiss upon an old man with creaking bones and heating hair?"

Oh. Oh, this was happening.

"I love your hair and I'll get you a walker that has a cup holder for water and a few pain pills. Mr Stark, will you kiss a kid from Queens who's so into you the red devil of Cliffwood himself doesn't dare sleep with either of us and get in the way?"

"Well, first of all. A walker, really, am I that old. Second, nice call on the pain pills, very good save on the hair. And please. He'd never get in the way of us two-"

"Great, are you gonna kiss me?"

"Why, Mr Parker. Don't mind if I do." It was a soft statement he would otherwise confuse as a plea.

"Fucking finally." That was a bit more of a pained gasp instead of a sigh of relief, but Morgan and Rocky were doing enough sighing for the both of them afterwards.

Afterwards though, when the blood is finally distributed to the right places

"Yeah, I think I broke my wrist and you should get that throat checked. I'll get the car."

"Tony, it's the fifties. I can get the car while you call Bucky to look over the kids. Anyone talks to me and they'll think you had something to do with my throat."

"That is a fantastic idea, sweetheart. Save it for later, maybe raincheck?"

"Get the car, Tony."

"Yep. Come on, you rascals. Help an old man out."

----------

Wade can't look at Tony without howling, mutters something about a limp wrist while Vanessa sighs and apologizes, compliments Peter on surviving life with a ridiculous best friend by his side. He says it's ok. Wade's his go to guy for whenever Peter has to get his head in the game and his lips on Tony's.

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captain-kelli · 5 years ago

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Call Sign: Renaissance // 06

06. Ring the Bells

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader (platonic)

Chapter Summary: After learning your aid is a HYDRA operative, memories flood your mind while you and the team try to figure out who he really is.

Word Count: 4,000

Warnings: angst, language, war-time violence, PTSD

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long to get out. This chapter tortured me in so many ways, begging to be rewritten several times. I hope you enjoy it!!

You had grown accustomed to working alone, so when you found out that Mosley assigned an aid to you for the Neruda negotiations, you weren’t happy. Actually, that’s putting it lightly.

You were irate.

Of course, you didn’t get the news until you were already on the plane to Soledad which meant you couldn’t call him to argue the point.

Not that I’m argumentative.

When you landed, you were greeted by a tall blonde holding a sign with your name on it. This was the first time you met John Beckett, the man you now know is a member of one of the world’s most prolific terrorist organizations.

There’s a buzzing in your ears.

You suppose the room is reacting to the news, but their voices are drowned out by images of Beckett. A montage of memories with him spanning the six months you worked together are replaying in your mind through an entirely different lens.

HYDRA? How? Wouldn’t I have noticed?

It’s distracting, the buzzing. If you could just focus. There’s something nagging at you, but you can’t hone in on it. You need the fucking whirring to stop.

What am I missing?

Before you can narrow it down, a grainy hologram appears at the head of the conference room and it pulls you back into the present. Despite being lost in thought, you have enough awareness to stand at attention in deference to the man before you.

“Mr. Secretary, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Thaddeus Ross. I have questions for him, but those will have to wait.

The Secretary offers you a tight-lipped hello. “Likewise.” Scanning the room, he looks to Steve and asks, “Any update on the guy we have in custody?”

Steve nods to you, indicating that the floor is yours.

“Yes, sir. FRIDAY ran facial recognition against our database to find a match. The man’s name is John Beckett and he appears to be a rather deadly HYDRA operative.”

Steve and Sam exchange a look over the omission of your personal relation, but they stay quiet after hearing Natasha clear her throat. You stand firm and unflinching as you wait for the Secretary’s response.

“Like we suspected. I’ll have him moved to the raft immediately.”

Before he has the chance to disconnect, Steve speaks up. “I think we’d like to ask him a few questions, if that’s possible.”

“You know how to get there.” With that, the blue shadow of Thaddeus Ross disappears.

Your head spins in Steve’s direction at his request.

“Natasha, can you stay here and start looking into John Beckett? Sam and Y/N, can you guys be ready to leave in an hour?” By all outward accounts, Steve seems to be in mission-mode already.

I guess I should be, too.

Natasha and Sam exit the conference room, leaving you alone with Steve. Again. The morning has been such a blur that you forgot all about last night, but when his hand finds your arm, you’re quickly reminded.

Squeezing it, he asks, “Are you alright?” The seriousness in his expression is still there, the mission not forgotten, but the softness in his eyes betrays him. The gentleness makes you smile.

You playfully shrug your shoulders. “Yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

Steve’s head drops and a small laugh escapes him. When he looks back up at you with those damn blue eyes, all you want to do is go back to the bedroom, but there’s work to be done.

“Come on, we have a plane to catch.”

In the black town car, you ignored Beckett’s feeble attempts at small talk, choosing to redial Mosley’s number for the third time instead. He finally answered and was seemingly annoyed, his voice gruff and low when he spoke.

“Do you have any idea what time it is in Geneva right now?”

Nope. And I don’t particularly care.

“Ya know, I was too busy trying to figure out why you think I need a babysitter after working together for years. I didn’t think about checking the time, did I wake you?” Beckett cut his eyes over to you after the sarcastic remark as he navigated the dark, empty streets of the city on the way to your hotel.

Okay, maybe calling him a babysitter while he sits next to me is a little harsh.

Mosley growled out a retort, “He’s not your babysitter, Y/N. Hell, he’s new to the organization, just think of him like an intern. He’s already been there for a few months, let him get you up to speed.”

You could tell this wasn’t a debate you were going to win, so you threw in the towel with a massive sigh and hung up the phone.

Beckett did, however, prove to be rather accommodating. Not only did he show you around the capital city, he helped set up your office and introduced you to everyone involved in the negotiations on your first day. In the weeks that followed, he made your life easier by compiling your meeting notes and sending them to Mosley on your behalf.

In hindsight, that was a lot of access for someone to have with so little clearance.

Once the jet lands on the floating fortress, you head inside to come face to face with your former aid. On the flight here, you did everything you knew to do to steel your nerves. The last thing you wanted to do was let him see you shaken.

He isn’t the same guy I worked with. He’s not that person.

Yet, stepping into the prison, your resolve falters when you see Beckett sitting on the floor of his cell looking completely unbothered by the situation. His serenity sends your anxiety into overdrive.

Why does he look so calm?

Steve walks closer to the bars separating Beckett from freedom, you and Sam hanging back. He doesn’t bother standing up, so Steve just speaks down to him. “John Beckett. You’re a little young to be so high in HYDRA’s ranks. Are they just running out of fresh talent?”

Maintaining his gaze at the floor, Beckett delivers the party line so often heard before. “Cut off one head, two more will take its place.”

Okay seriously, why the fuck is he so calm?

“Your resumé is impressive - graduated from Eton, served in the British Army, you speak 5 different languages. It’s no wonder they recruited you.” Steve is baiting him, trying to get him to speak up, but when he finally does it’s to you.

“Fancy meeting you here, Y/L/N.”

Steve raises his hand and Sam grabs your wrist, both effectively holding you back. Steve responds to Beckett before you get the chance. “What were you trying to steal from Panetta Martin?”

Now, Beckett trains his eyes on you, causing you to shift uncomfortably under your weight.

“We weren’t there to steal anything, Captain. Panetta Martin’s security measures should be able to tell you that.”

He doesn’t just look calm. He looks smug. Why?

Steve resigns to the fact that Beckett isn’t going to say anything more, so he walks out of the room with Sam quickly on his heels, but your feet remain unmoved. With a single thought, your nerve returns. Your hands move to your hips and you ask the question that’s been bothering since you arrived.

“Why did you want to get caught?”

Steve and Sam turn around at the sound of your voice. Beckett’s eyes widen in surprise, unease filling them for the first time that day. His expression told you everything you wanted to know.

“Rogers, take me to Neruda. I have an idea where we can find more information than he’s willing to give.”

The rush of the realization propels you into action, but Steve is a little more reserved. “Y/N… hold on.”

“Dile al capitán que el fantasma está en Neruda.” The Spanish rings sharp as you realize Beckett is taunting you.

The ghost is in Neruda? What is that supposed to mean? Who’s the ghost?

When you translate it, Steve’s jaw clenches shut and Sam crosses his arms. They clearly know who the ghost is even if you don’t. Whoever it is, it’s enough to get them to agree to go.

It was a week before your reassignment and Beckett was in your office sorting files into the boxes lining the wall while you responded to a slew of emails from the UN’s peacekeeping office at your desk. After spending the entire day locked in a conference room in a contentious meeting, you were eager to wrap up work and head back to the hotel.

“Isn’t this guy one of the Avengers? I think I’ve seen him on TV.”

The exhaustion had clearly settled in because you didn’t even notice Beckett pick up the picture frame. He was holding it up to his face, trying to get a better look at the man in the photo with his arm draped over your shoulders.

“So he tells me. He’ll always just be Sam to me.”

Beckett sets the photograph back on the desk without ceremony and strolls out of the room. Shutting your laptop, you pack your bags and close up for the night.

The memory flashes before your eyes while you sit in the back of the Quinjet, causing the buzzing to return. Steve and Sam are in the cockpit, talking in hushed tones which only adds to the distraction. Fumbling in your bag, you find your headphones, shove them into your ears, and press play on an old jazz playlist.

I’m close. I know I’m close.

You start with what you know. John Beckett was a staffer from the UN peacekeeping office assigned to the Neruda negotiations, but he was actually a trained assassin for HYDRA.

If HYDRA had him in Neruda, it was for a reason.

What else did you know? Beckett would regularly compile your notes to draft reports and send them to Mosley. It wasn’t uncommon for him to call Mosley direct, sidestepping you entirely.

What if Beckett was feeding Mosley false information? What if he was manipulating Mosley, using him as a puppet for HYDRA’s benefit?

That leaves the forced reassignment. At the time, it felt terribly sudden. You were given no warning and were asked to leave the same day. But you had forgotten all about Beckett’s comment on your connection to Sam.

Are the two related? Did Beckett lie to Mosley to get you reassigned?

There’s one way to find out.

Sam and Steve jump at your sudden appearance in the cockpit. When he catches the look in your eyes, the one he knows far too well, Sam braces for impact. “What happened?”

“Can you make a call to the compound? I need to talk to Natasha.”

A request to FRIDAY has Natasha on the line quickly. “Y/N, your dog won’t get off my lap.” The silence on your end of the line sobers her up. “What’s going on? Did Beckett come clean? I’m still digging in his files.”

You barely hear Natasha. The whirring in your head is now at its loudest as you prepare for the worst.

Breathe.

Once you ring this bell, it’s done. You would effectively be suggesting that an Under-General-Secretary of the United Nations has been turned into a pawn for HYDRA. One of the smartest men you know, a man whom you consider a mentor and a friend.

If HYDRA managed to infiltrate the United Nations, it would be globally devastating. My personal relationship can wait.

“Natasha, I need you to get me everything you have on Oswald Mosley. Cross reference against Beckett, I think it might be possible he’s being exploited.”

It’s Natasha’s turn to be speechless. Sam runs his hand down his face as he considers the words you just uttered. “Mosley? Your old boss and the guy that’s in charge of peace all over the world?”

“That’s the one.”

You were back in your apartment in Brooklyn when you heard the familiar sound come from the laptop on your desk. Running over, you accepted the video call just in time, greeting Mosley warmly. In truth, you were impatiently waiting for this call. After completing your first peace-building mission in Cyprus, you were desperate for feedback.

I like being the best.

“Good morning, sir. It’s great to hear from you!”

The English gentleman smiled into the camera. The of streaks gray in his hair and the round, tortoise-shell glasses gave him an air of wisdom and his suit matched the grandeur of his title. “Hi, Y/N. I don’t have enough time for the small talk today, so I’m just going to skip ahead and tell you job-well-done on the Cyprus mission. I would have bet all the money in my pockets that it was beyond help.”

The conversation didn’t go on much longer, but his praise had you beaming the rest of the day. From that moment on, Mosley was a giant in your eyes. He would go on to hire you for a multitude of missions, advising you through each one to help you hone your skills even more.

Exposing him as an unwilling accomplice to terrorism is going to destroy you.

When the wheels touch down in Soledad, the team agrees to split up, Steve and Sam heading for Beckett’s hotel while you return to your old office. Before you leave, Sam takes hold of both of your shoulders and brings his eyes to meet yours. “I still don’t like the idea of you going alone. Keep Natasha on comms the whole time, Steve and I are going dark so we won’t be able to bail you out if all hell breaks loose.”

Falling into Sam, your head rests in the crook of his neck. In the early days, you didn’t worry this much. Missions were part of the job. But losing Riley, not being there to do anything to save his life, changed everything. If anything, it makes you cling tighter to Sam because the idea of losing another best friend is paralyzing.

“Sam, who is the ghost?”

Pulling away from you, Sam glances over to Steve who is patiently waiting his turn. “I’ll let him tell you.” With that, Sam heads into the back of the Quinjet to put on his wings.

Leaning against a table, Steve takes your hands and pulls you to him. “It’s not easy being on a mission with you, d’y’know that?”

As you run your hands along his tactical suit, you’re testing its strength. Remembering the first night at the compound, you trace the areas where you had once seen bullet holes and blood and you begin to doubt the plan to separate.

“Steve...Beckett mentioned a ghost. Who is it?”

His forehead drops to meet yours. A sigh departs the very lips that brought you such pleasure last night, yet you expect they’re about to bring you pain.

“When Bucky wasn’t Bucky...when he was the machine HYDRA trained him to be, the intelligence community called him a ghost story. He was suspected of committing assassinations that spanned decades, it was hard for anyone to believe it was just one person.”

Bucky? Here in Neruda?

“If he’s here, I have to try and find him.”

You couldn’t blame him. If Riley was somewhere out there, you wouldn’t be standing here talking with Steve, you’d already be gone. But Riley has never tried to kill you, so it’s fair to say this situation is a bit different.

“Steve, I know I said you shouldn’t leave him behind, but shouldn’t we at least have a plan? Shouldn’t we call the rest of the team? There’s kind of a lot going on here.”

Sam strides to where the two of you are, fully equipped with wings and goggles. “Cap, we’ve gotta move if we’re gonna find him. He could be gone already.” Sam kisses you on the cheek one last time before heading outside, the gesture filling you with immense dread.

What if he needs me?

“He’s right. We can’t let HYDRA take him back, it could make everything a lot worse.” Steve’s fingers curl under your chin and lift your face to his so he can quickly kiss you. It’s chaste. Nothing like the ones you shared the night before.

Pulling apart, he follows Sam out of the door, but stops when you call for him. “Don’t do anything stupid. And take care of my best friend.”

It’s a half-smile he gives you. So reserved. Whatever wall he constructs for missions is back up now, firmly keeping you out. “Get to your office, get what you need, and get the hell out. Natasha is on standby waiting for you to connect, let her know if you run into any trouble.” And just like that, he was gone.

It’s not long until you arrive at your old building and you’re surprised to find your key still works. Grabbing the gun from your hip, you begin to sweep the building for any possible threats. Each familiar corner no longer harmless like before.

If Beckett is HYDRA, it’s entirely possible that someone else could be, too.

Finding the building clear, you holster the gun and bound for Beckett’s office. The computer is thankfully right where he left it and you turn it on. Bringing your hand to your ear, you activate the comms to let Natasha know you’ve made it inside.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s do this. Do you have the drive?”

Pulling the small drive from your pocket, you flip the Stark tech in your hands. “Yep. I’m assuming I just plug it in?”

When Natasha confirms, you insert it into the USB port and wait for something to happen. A few short seconds later, a window pops up notifying you that it’s establishing an uplink.

“Okay, I’m in. Give me a few minutes to decrypt these files.”

While Natasha works her magic, you poke around Beckett’s office. It’s sterile, void of any personal touches. No photographs, no plants. His desk is pristine, no messy piles of papers or pens with chewed caps. Opening a few drawers doesn’t reveal anything either. Giving up, you walk over to the window, looking out over the quiet city with its twinkling lights.

“Uh...Y/N. It’s worse than we thought.”

Circling back around the desk, you understand what Natasha means. Hundreds of emails, correspondence between Beckett and Mosley, definitively proving a deeper connection. You collapse into the chair and pour through them until you land on a thread that makes your heart sink.

All of the whirring from before comes to a screeching halt. Your thoughts quiet. Suddenly everything makes sense. That gut feeling you had all day? The one telling you something was off? Evidently it was onto something. You just never would’ve guessed it was this big.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Thousands of miles away you can hear Natasha’s concern, but the only response you give her is a quiet hum.

You always thought it was strange that Ross insisted it had to be you leading the rescue missions. Not that it wasn’t flattering, but you hadn’t been in that game in a hot minute. And what was with the urgency? Surely you could have finished out the negotiations, they were close to being done anyway.

Unless someone wanted me out.

The first email in the thread is from Beckett, telling Mosley of your connection to Sam. The second email is from Mosley to Secretary Ross, informing him of the UN’s mandate for the Avengers to have a disaster response team along with a very strongly-worded suggestion that you should head it up. The third email is from Mosley to Beckett, notifying him of your immediate departure.

He isn’t a pawn. He’s the chessmaster. But why?

“Natasha, I’ve gotta get out of here. I’m heading back to the Quinjet.”

Before Natasha can respond, all of the power in the building goes out. Whipping your head towards the window, you notice the rest of the city has gone dark as well. Shouting into the comms, you’re met with silence. Communication lines are down, too.

I’m alone.

Geneva was always beautiful in the summertime. Gardens exploded with color and boats flocked in the lake, celebrating the warm weather. When Mosley asked you to join him at the Palais des Nations for a visit that June, you jumped at the chance. The two of you spent an hour walking the campus grounds until the tour ended at his office which was impressive, to say the least. His bookshelves were littered with awards and photographs with heads of state and his desk was said to be hundreds of years old. On his wall, though, was the most magnificent display of all.

The painting was massive, drowning in various shades of blue and green, except for its center. That’s where the monster lived. The subject of the piece was a giant octopus, its skin the deepest shade of crimson red.

How strange.

Suddenly, the whole building shakes. Explosions and gunfire outside illuminate the interior, but they don’t seem nearby. Immediately, your thoughts dart to Sam and Steve, but you know that staying put is your best option. Using the light from the blasts outside, you tread down the hallway to your old office.

If you have time to panic, you have time to do something. What can I do from right here?

Looking around the room, you remember an emergency kit in your desk that you hope is still there. Yanking open a drawer, you find it and fish the flashlight out of it. Turning it on, you shine its light along the walls until your eyes land on the boxes.

The spotlight dances on box after box until you finally settle on one, its date matching the one of the first email in the thread. Ripping its lid off, you rifle through its contents. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a box full of paper. Nothing to suggest it’s different from the other boxes along the wall. But you’re looking for something.

Where is it?

That meeting? The contentious one? It ended well. The factions agreed to the terms of the new constitution and set a date for free and fair elections the following year. It was a grueling meeting, absolutely, but it was a success.

And, if I had to guess, that wouldn’t sit well with HYDRA.

Towards the back of the box, you find the report. It’s in a sealed manila envelope that you tear open immediately. At the top, written in Beckett’s neat handwriting, is a note that reads “Mission Status: Nearly Complete. Threat to Primary Mission: High. Recommendation: Operation Panetta Martin.”

It isn’t just one or two HYDRA agents in Neruda. There’s a sleeper cell here working to derail the peace-building mission and this is the proof.

A chill creeps up the back of your neck. You get the feeling that you’re not alone, so you draw your gun and kneel behind your desk for cover. When you hear Steve call your name, relief washes over you and you stand to find him in your doorway.

“Steve, you are never going to believe what I found. It’s not Beckett. Well, it is Beckett, he’s definitely HYDRA and involved.” You lift the report as evidence to the accusations spilling from your mouth. “But Mosley...he’s behind all of this. He’s some kind of leader for HYDRA. And apparently the break-in at Panetta Martin is related somehow. Steve…?”

Steve hasn’t moved. He’s here, but his eyes look like they’re somewhere else. Dried blood and dirt are caked on his face and neck, his suit shredded again. The shield sits firmly in his fist, reminding you that, in this moment, he isn’t Steve. He’s Captain America. His guard is up, the wall of the mission still firmly there. But his eyes, those bluer than blue eyes, are what give it away.

“Steve, where’s Sam?”

#Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fanfiction #call sign: renaissance #captain-kelli-writes

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years ago

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One In A Million - Chpt.10

Summary: Now that you’ve made up your mind to stay, you can finally start planning out your future with the guys.

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! This is it, the last chapter! I feel like it’s gone so fast but here we are. The epilogue will be going up next so stay tuned. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Ten

Now that you’ve made up your mind to stay, your job in the typing pool seems just a little more mundane. It was fine for the interim while you were just biding time before going back, but now you can’t possibly see yourself doing this for the next forty years. The only problem is, you don’t have your degree in this time and you most likely won’t be able to get a job in a lab even if you did. Money isn’t a problem compliments of your supposed Sparrow status with the SSR but you don’t want to live off of that forever. You want to do something, anything, to keep busy. You’re daydreaming, walking the quiet early morning streets of Brooklyn when it comes to you. Or rather, you come to it.

Science was your first love and always would be, but your second love was books. When you stumble across the public library you can’t help but go inside. Public libraries are the same no matter what decade you’re in. The long, tall rows of books, the musty scent of paper thick in the air, children and adults alike lost in their reading. It’s comforting and reminds you of your childhood. You approach the harried looking girl at the main desk with a smile. “Excuse me. Hi. I’d like to get a library card, please.” you tell her.

The girl looks up through thick rimmed glasses with a smile of her own. “Sure, I just need you to fill out this slip and I’ll get you set up.” she hands you a three by five card for your name and address and you scrawl your information down for her. It dawns on you that you’ll never get to use your real name again. You’ll forever be Rose Rogers now and while there’s a small pang of loss for your old name, you could do a lot worse than being Mrs. Rogers. Handing your card back to the girl she files it quickly into the rolodex that houses everyone’s information. You stifle your laugh at how archaic it seems compared to the ease of saving information on a computer.

The girl hands you a card with your name filled out on it and yawns loudly before she can get out a tired, “Here you go.”

“Long day?” you ask sympathetically.

“The longest. Doreen had her baby and now she’s not coming back so we’re all working doubles trying to pick up the slack. We don’t even have anyone for the children's story time tomorrow now. It’s a mess.”

“Are you looking to replace her? I used to volunteer at the library in school so I’m familiar with the Dewey Decimal System. I moved here not too long ago and I’m looking for work.”

“Really? That would be amazing. Can you come back tomorrow to meet with Mr. Cooper? He runs the place and will be the one who has final say, but if you know what the Dewey Decimal is I’m sure he’ll take you. Most girls coming in take forever to train.”

“Sure, what time?”

The girl, whose name you learn is Lorna, checks the calendar in the back and then gives you a time frame to stop by in. She promises to give her boss a heads up that you’re coming in so hopefully he’s expecting you. Lorna jokes that she’ll put in a good word for you too since you seem a heck of a lot nicer than Doreen ever was.

You want to tell the guys about your potential new job but also don’t want to jinx anything. Your supervisor at the SSR is kind and lets you take an early lunch for a “doctor’s appointment” so that you can run across town to meet Mr. Cooper at the library. After you explain your experience, you really did volunteer at your high school’s library, he hires you on the spot, offering for you to start the following week. You feel guilty going back to the office to put in your notice and wonder if this means the bank account you were given will be retracted when you quit. There’s a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach when you wonder if your new job will pay enough to keep you afloat the way you have been. It’ll be tighter for sure but you do the math quickly in your head and think it should all work out.

You pop into Agent Wilson’s office when you get back to the office, wanting to rip the band-aid off rather than worrying about what if’s.

“Rose, good to see you again.” Wilson stands to greet you as you step into his office.

“You as well, Agent Wilson.” you reply shaking his hand.

“And to what do I owe this visit? Is the reception pool treating you well?”

“Very well sir, thank you. But about that actually. I’ve found another job that’s more aligned with my career goals. I’ve been given the opportunity to be a librarian and it’s closer to where my husband and I moved. I know I was set up here due to my… status, but I’ll be staying in Brooklyn and would like to set up a real life here. I understand if you’ll need the funds back from the account I was given and I have a personal check here so you can access and close the account. I haven’t used all that much so far.”

“Rose, Rose, slow down a minute. The SSR takes care of its assets even when they choose to leave the life. You were never obligated to stay here after declaring Sparrow protocol. The account is yours, we cut ties to the funds as soon as identities are handed out, we have no desire to take that security from you. I’m happy for you, that you’ve made a life here. Most girls don’t re-acclimate as easily and it’s a blessing when they do. I hope you’ll stop by from time to time to say hello.”

“I will, thank you sir. Truly, thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Just let Marge know you’re moving on, she’ll understand. And take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, you too.” You shake Agent Wilson’s hand once again and head out into the more brightly lit main office.

Marge and the girls are sad to see you go and you offer to stay on until the end of the week so as not to leave them in the lurch. Marge insists you’re free to go whenever but the girls plan a goodbye party for you for Friday.

Steve is home when you get back, Bucky will be along in another hour but you can’t wait to share your good news. Steve is over the moon for you, though he does admit he wishes you had told them you weren’t happy in the typing pool. They would have encouraged you to find something new sooner like you and Bucky had done for him when he took the job at the paper. Never one to miss an opportunity to celebrate, Steve goes down the block under the guise of getting a loaf of bread to go with dinner. He comes back with bread and glossy chocolate cake, Congratulations written in cursive on top in bright white lettering. You’re kissing Steve and giggling when Bucky finally comes home, tired and worn out from his day.

“What’s all this then?” he asks, setting his coat on the hook by the door.

“Our girl has some really great news, Buck.” Steve tells him, a hand still around your waist.

You hold the cake up to show him the writing on top with a smile.

Bucky’s face crumples, shock and hope and awe flickering across it as he crosses the room to the two of you. You can’t figure out what has him so moved until he presses his rough palms against your belly. “Rose?” he croaks through a tight throat.

“Oh!” you gasp, realizing what he was thinking. “No, no, not that. I’m sorry for scaring you. We probably should have been clear right off the bat. I got a new job. I’m going to be a librarian starting next week.”

The light in Bucky’s eyes dims for a second before he can rally himself to be excited for you. “That’s wonderful, darlin’. I’m so proud of you. I always thought you were too smart to be sitting around in a typing pool anyway.”

“Thanks, baby. Dinner is almost ready, why don’t you go wash up?”

Bucky gives you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and heads off to the bedroom to change.

You look to Steve who looks as thrown off as you are. “He’ll be okay.” Steve assures you, giving you a quick hug, “Let’s go finish up.” he takes your hand and leads you back to the kitchen where you fall back into an easy rhythm preparing dinner for the three of you.

The celebratory air of dinner is somehow dimmed by Bucky’s reaction to your news. You had never really put much thought into a family of your own. It makes sense that Bucky would want one, he came from a large, loving family after all. And in this era, men are taught to aspire to having a wife and family of their own. Your birth control shot was up to date when you left but it should have run out a month or two ago. Now that you’re thinking about it, it’s sheer luck that you aren’t pregnant by now and you make a mental note to be more careful going forward. You can’t exactly get a Depo booster in the ‘40s and the birth control pill won’t even be invented for another eight years. You’ll just have to time your cycle and be careful going forward. Unless. Unless you don’t want to be. Images of a little boy with floppy blonde hair and bright blue eyes comes to mind, followed by a little girl with chestnut curls and wide grey-blue eyes. You could have that, if you wanted. If they wanted. You’d never thought to ask until now, and now that you have, the questions are burning bright in your chest.

The three of you are sitting in the living room when you finally can’t stand it anymore. “We need to talk about this.” you announce, setting down your book. Steve looks up from his sketch pad, startled.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.” Bucky sighs setting aside his crossword puzzle. “It was your big night and I’ve ruined it by bein’ dumb.”

“You’ve done no such thing.” you scold him lightly, “But your face when you thought. Well. When you thought I was pregnant. Baby, is that something you want? Because if it is, we have to talk about this.”

“It’s not right for me to ask you to-”

“James Buchanan Barnes.” you cut him off, “We are all adults here. You are not asking me for a damn thing. We need to be able to talk about what we want, all of us. That includes you, Steve. If we all want the same thing then great, if we don’t then we need to talk it out and come to an agreement. Now, let’s start over. Bucky, do you want to have a baby with me?”

Bucky’s jaw drops, stunned by your outburst and the frankness of which you’re talking about things. “God,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair, “Of course I do. The idea of seeing you all full up with a baby, our baby. It kills me, darlin’. I’d have as many little chubby babies runnin’ around here as we could stand. Maybe a few little bratty blonde ones too.” he gives Steve a smirk and Steve visibly pales.

“Stevie, honey, what’s wrong?” you ask, worried.

“No, I can’t. I won’t. You know how often I get sick and how bad it can get. Believe it or not, it was worse when I was a kid. I was on death’s door more times than I can count. Nothing about my body has ever worked the way it should, why would I want to put some poor kid through all that too? Of course I want a little baby with your eyes and my smile, but what kind of life am I setting it up for when it’s half me? I couldn’t bear it.”

“Stevie, no.” Bucky croaks, rushing over to him and lifting him off of his chair. Bucky slides into his seat, pulling Steve onto his lap so he can hold him tightly, tears shining bright in his eyes. “You would be the most amazing papa to any kid. And our girl is strong, who says your kids would have even one of the problems you had? They might be all her and only get your sass. We can’t know for sure.”

“He’s right.” you chime in, “We wouldn’t know for sure if a baby of ours would have your health issues. And even if they did, medicine is getting better every day. They wouldn’t necessarily have such a rough time even if they did have issues. Be honest, honey. Do you want a baby with me?”

Steve thinks for a long moment, giving into the warmth radiating from Bucky. “I don’t think I need it to be my own. I want a baby with you, but if it’s Bucky’s I’d be just as happy if it were my own. And then we wouldn’t have to worry about it being sick like me.”

“You’re always so worried about us, what about you?” Bucky asks you.

“I never really thought I’d have a family but I think I want one now, with you two. Not saying right now. I’d like to hold off a little while so we can enjoy it just being the three of us for a bit, but someday. Yeah. It might be nice to have a few little kids running around.”

“Let’s give it a year.” Steve suggests, “We’ll take the time to get you settled at your new job and start saving up. Maybe take a vacation too while it’s just us. Then next year we can decide if we want to try or hold off. I’ll go with you to the doctor’s if you want one of those diaphragms. Or me and Buck could start buying rubbers. Whatever you want. We probably should’a thought of this sooner.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t thinking about it either. Condoms are easier and I can track things so we’d only have to use them when I’m fertile.”

“Whatever you want, doll.” Steve assures you, getting up from his spot on Bucky’s lap and joining you on the sofa to pull you in for a long hug.

“All I want is you. Both of you.” you whisper against his neck.

Bucky is silent as a ghost as he slips in on your other side so you’re sandwiched between your guys. You can’t help but be relieved that the conversation was easier than you expected. It’s hard to believe Steve is so fearful of his DNA being passed along but it makes sense after everything he’s battled in his life. Maybe someday he’ll change his mind but you’re not going to push him.

Leaving the girls at the typing pool is bittersweet. You exchange addresses and phone numbers so you can stay in touch and promise to host a girl’s night as soon as you can. You’re surprised to realize that you really had made a few good friends at the SSR and that you’ll miss the community of your little group.

Your first day of work at the library proves to be easier than you expected. A grey haired woman named Agnes gives you a tour before training you on the rolodex and their filing system. It’s more complicated than scanning things into a computerized system but at least it’s easy to understand. Checking in and out books takes a few minutes of finding people’s cards and logging their books, stamping each with a due date before handing them back. No one seems to mind though, happily chatting with you while you log their books. Agnes explains that Doreen, who apparently no one will miss, used to lead the children’s story time on Monday mornings. Agnes claims her arthritis acts up making it hard to hold the books up for too long so you’re given the task going forward. You can’t really complain, the children are eager and sweet, cheering when you do funny voices and build suspense.

By the end of the day you’re already planning improvements for the library. You’ve caught on quickly and couldn’t help but notice a few improvements that would help. You worry about rocking the boat, being so new, but Agnes encourages you to have at it. She claims they haven’t changed a thing since Grover Cleveland was in office. You spend your first week making small adjustments to make everyone’s lives easier. It’s not too much, just rearranging the main desk a little, decorating the children’s area to make it more cheery, setting out books to feature on the end caps of isles to draw people in.

Your second week you decide to start deep cleaning. There’s always two of you there at the same time and the other women, most of them closer to Agnes’ age than yours, are content to sit behind the desk all day while you put books back and tidy up. You run around one Tuesday afternoon with a duster, going over every surface in the whole library. The next morning you attack the tall windows with newspapers and ammonia. You pick up a bottle of Murphy’s oil at the corner drug store and spend two days rubbing down every bit of wood in the place. By the end of that week you’re exhausted but happy and the library has never looked better. The other girls are still chattering the next week about much better it looks and how even the patrons are commenting. Mr. Cooper is apparently fretting that you’re too good for them and won’t last long there. You assure them you’re happy and plan on being there for the long haul.

Steve and Bucky both notice a difference in you when you come home tired and sweaty at night. Bucky jokes they could use you down at the docks with how hard you work. They both comment on how much happier you seem and you agree with them. Working with books is much more fulfilling than typing all day. You want to expand their children’s program to twice a week, story time on Mondays and a craft time on Thursdays. You spend your free time at work putting together a plan to present to Mr. Cooper for permission. The library as it is now is nice, but it could be so much more. You want it to be a haven for the community, the way yours was growing up. You could coordinate study nights with the local schools and host literacy nights for adults who never had a chance to learn. Bucky and Steve listen as you ramble about the plans you have and exchange knowing smiles. You’re happier now than they’ve ever seen you and it seems your career change was exactly what you needed to really thrive. And you are thriving now, shockingly more than you think you ever did in modern times. You’ve found your place back time with your guys and your community.

By the time your jump point comes it’s easier than you expected to write the letter to your team. You tell them you’ve found happiness, a new career, and a love that triumphs all. You apologize for disrupting the timeline and explain that you’re certain there’s not steering it back on course. The slight over shooting of the jump date and your suggestions on what adjustments are needed to make the calibrations more precise are included as well. You make a list of everything you think might be useful for the research and let them know where the rest of your notes are kept in your desk. You don’t know what will be helpful to them and if they can’t have you, they can at least have your notes. You whip up a batch of brownies for the typing pool girls, an easy ploy to gain access to the inside of the SSR office so you can get downstairs in time. It’s with a guilty conscience that you chase a mouse around the trash bin out back, needing something to put the note and brooch on. You fashion the poor little field mouse a bow out of one of your ribbons, clipping the brooch to the back and the folded up letter as well. Thankfully the poor thing is too frightened to put up much of a fight and you stash the little guy in your pocketbook.

The girls at the typing pool are thrilled to see you when you show up with the pan of brownies. The container is quickly emptied and you beg off to go wash it and say hello to one of the receptionists before leaving. You have six minutes to get set up. Quietly as you can, you slip down to the basement, setting up your jump point and counting down softly to the poor little mouse who’s trembling in your hand. You adjust it’s bow, note, and brooch one last time before sitting it down and activating the transport. The gemstone on the brooch flashes, once, twice, and a third time, the mouse holding blessedly still out of fright. You’re scarcely able to breathe until the white glow starts up and in a bright flash the mouse is gone. A few tears slip out despite yourself, silently wishing the little mouse well in the 21st century. You hope your team carries on their work and goes on to do even more great things. A part of you will always miss them but you know you’re where you’re meant to be.

You wipe your eyes, sniffling back the rest of your tears, and head back upstairs to say goodbye to the girls before you have to get to work across town at the library. It’s craft day for the kids and you’re going to be teaching them how to make hand print flowers. The craft is certain to be messy, creative, and loads of fun.

The bright early summer sun blinds you as you step outside onto the bustling city sidewalk and it hits you. This is your life now. There is no last chance to take it back anymore. You are permanently living in this time with your guys, and your job, and your new friends. You take a deep breath of balmy city air and know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Tag list! @wolfarrowepz

#one in a million #steve rogers #bucky barnes #reader insert #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #named reader #captain america #preserum steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #time travel #1940s setting

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littlesliceofmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

Do I look like a God?

Request/Synopsis: Peter has feelings for the reader and wants to tell her, but she’s too busy fangirling over Steve and Thor.

Warnings: none, just adorable-ness

Pairings: Peter x Reader

A/N: I loved this idea, so I hope you guys love reading it! As always, Gif isn’t mine and my inbox is open! xxx

Oh, god.

Oh. My. God.

Today was the day. The day that you had been waiting for for like... 2 days. Peter was finally bringing you to meet the Avengers. Nothing could have prepared you for this.

You had been dreading this day, but still, you couldn’t wait for this day to come. Ever since Peter told you his little Spider-Man secret, you had been pestering his ass to bring you to meet the rest of the team. He told you ‘no’ over and over again for about two years, until finally - finally, two days ago he found out Tony Stark was throwing a party at the Avengers Tower and Peter was invited and allowed to bring whoever he wanted, ‘The more the merrier’ Stark had told him.

When Peter mentioned it to you, you practically jumped on him, telling him he had to bring you, and he agreed, only if you promised not to embarrass him. Apparently, as the youngest on the team, he was prone to teasing and criticism and he wanted nothing more than to make a good impression on everyone, especially his beloved Mr. Stark.

So, when Peter texted you that someone was on his way to pick the two of you up, you nearly fainted. You ran around the apartment, ignoring your family telling you to chill out as you dolled up, drinking a bit too much coffee in the process. You wanted to stay awake through the night - you had to. This was quite possibly your once chance to meet the Avengers, you had to impress. Or at least not make a fool of yourself.

Not even half an hour after Peter’s text, he knocked on your door. You froze in your step, but immediately snapped out of it and opened the door, a grinning Peter standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly.

“You look, uh, nice,” he pointed to your outfit.

“You don’t like it? Oh, it’s too much, isn’t it? I know, it’s just a party, but Tony Stark is a billionaire, you know, and these are really cool people,” you stared to ramble but Peter cut you off with a small laugh and a shake of his head.

“You look great, let’s go. Cut the rambling.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you grabbed your small purse, saying a quick bye to your family and stepping out of the front door, following Peter down the hallway. When you got to the lobby of the building, Peter led you out to a large black SUV, the dark windows not letting anyone see anything inside.

Peter opened the door for you and you hopped in, smiling at the man in the driver’s seat.

“I’m Happy, I’ll be your driver,” he smiled, putting on his sunglasses as Peter stepped into the car, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, I’m happy you’re our driver too,” you said awkwardly, watching Peter face palm himself from the corner of your eye. You shrugged at him, silently asking what’s wrong.

“His name is Happy,” Peter mumbled to you, your eyes widening as you turned to face Happy, an apologetic look on your face as you felt the humiliation set in.

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, it’s nice to meet you, Happy,” you said awkwardly, “I’m Y/N.”

The rest of the drive was mostly silent on Happy’s end, but Peter blabbed your ear off about the team, telling you a little bit about everyone before you met them. You found out Tony and Steve Rogers were apparently not on good terms, Natasha Romanoff and Bruce Banner had started dating recently but were very private about it, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes loved teasing Peter about anything they could possibly find amusing, and that Clint was on edge recently because of his wife and kids being dragged into his work life.

“This is like, next level gossip,” you chuckled, making Peter laugh slightly, leaning his head back on his seat as he looked out to your surroundings. You were finally pulling up to the tower, and to say you were in awe would be the understatement of the century. It was beautifully lit up in the evening golden sunlight, the A glistening brightly at the top. As Happy led the two of you inside, you were captivated by the marble floors and the giant fountain - indoors. This was next level money.

Happy led you two to the elevators, Peter already being slightly embarrassed at your behaviour, you could tell. You had pointed out everything to him on the walk inside, the gold glistening items catching your attention from all over the lobby.

“Look at that chandelier!” You pointed to the tiny glistening chandelier in the elevator, Happy chuckling slightly as Peter’s cheeks turned red, shaking his head at your over-the-top excitement.

“Remember, please, don’t be hyper in front of the team, Y/N,” Peter reminded you again, making you roll your eyes, “Act cool.”

As if on cue, the elevator dinged to signal you had arrived at your floor. Happy wished you two a good evening and as soon as you two stepped out, he went back downstairs. You turned to face your surroundings, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor. The entire room was covered with windows overlooking the sunset on the Manhattan skyline, the giant crystals hanging from the ceiling making the light bounce around the room. There were large leather couches all around the room and you could see a DJ booth being set up at the far end of the room, next to a bar.

“Peter, this is crazy,” you whispered to him, and as much as he wanted to tell you to be cool again, he loved how excited you were about this. He knew he made the right decision bringing you.

“Parker!” A voice shouted from across the room, snatching you out of your trance. You followed Peter’s glance and your eyes landed on none other than Tony Stark, walking straight towards the two of you. Your heart flipped and your nerves suddenly came flowing back, your hands getting slightly shaky.

Peter stuck his hands out, greeting him with a hand shake, “Hello, Mr. Stark.” You could immediately tell how much Peter admired him, his posture straightened the minute he saw him, his eyes widening, and his voice even changing to sound slightly more firm.

“You must be Y/N, right?” Tony Stark turned to you, holding out his hand.

You breath hitched in your throat and you felt your legs turn to jelly, you couldn’t believe you were meeting the Tony Stark, “O-Oh, yes that’s me, Mr. Iron Man, sir.”

Tony chuckled, placing his hand over his chest, “Oh, god, call me Tony, please.”

You nodded, giving him a shy smile as he turned to Peter and motioned for you guys to follow him. The two of you did just that, following him down a long hallway. You couldn’t believe this floor got even bigger.

He led you to a room at the end and opened it to reveal a large kitchen, dining room, and what looked like a living room. But not only that, the entire team was chilling around the space, doing their own thing. You felt your face warm up, looking around to everyone in the room until your eyes landed on none other than Steve Rogers. Oh, he was beautiful.

Tony walked towards the kitchen, but you were too awe-struck to move, grabbing Peter’s arm as he tried to follow him, “Peter, oh my god.”

“W-what? Are you okay? You look like you’ve either seen a ghost or fallen in love,” Peter scanned over your face, but your eyes were locked on the blond sitting on the couch, his face held in a smile as he laughed at something on TV.

“I’ve fallen in love,” you mumbled, Peter following your gaze to have his eyes fall on Steve Rogers, making him groan and turn back to face you.

“He’s a hundred years old, you know?” Peter stated matter-of-factly, making you snap your eyes away from the blond and onto the disapproving brunet in front of you.

You placed your hands on your hips, looking up at him, “Um, so? He looks beautiful for a hundred year old man.”

Peter scoffed, turning back to face Steve for a quick second before turning back to face you, “I stole his shield once, it was epic.”

You laughed at Peter, about to respond when you were cut off by a voice next to you, “Well, Spider-Boy finally decides to come to a Stark party.” You turned your attention to who was speaking and noticed Sam Wilson had approached the two of you, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You’re Falcon!” you exclaimed, slightly frightening yourself as you did so, having no intention to practically scream it at him.

Sam chuckled as Peter rolled his eyes, “That’s me, the one and only, and you are?”

You stuck your hand out, “Y/N! Peter brought me.”

Sam shook your hand, placing his own on his hips as he faced Peter, “Oh, you brought a girl, huh?” You felt your cheeks warm up and noticed Peter’s turned slightly pink as well.

“Shut up, Sam.”

If you were totally honest, you had kind of hoped that Peter bringing you here meant something, even if it was a party with an open invitation. You had harboured feelings for the brunet, wanting nothing more than to make it official, but you knew with the life he lived that there was no way that was going to happen anytime soon.

Sam sauntered away to the kitchen, and Peter took this as his chance to introduce you to the team. You followed him to the couches, the nerves making your steps feel shaky as you approached this group of heroes.

“Hey, Parker,” Natasha Romanoff smiled, standing up to pull Peter into a hug, her red hair nearly matching his face by now.

“Ms Romanoff, this is my friend Y/N,” Peter pointed to you and she smiled, greeting you kindly, which you did right back. She was gorgeous, and you knew how powerful she was too, which made her all the more intriguing to you.

Peter shook hands with Steve Rogers, greeting him kindly and turning to you, and you could already feel your heart stop when you looked into his eyes, “Captain Rogers, this is Y/N.”

You felt your breath leave your body as you shook Steve’s hand, his firm grip not really helping how weak the nerves were making you feel. He was just so pretty.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N, Peter’s mentioned you quite a bit, so it’s about time we’re introduced to you,” Steve said softly, placing his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you before turning to Peter with a smirk.

You stuttered, “W-wow, it’s really an honour to meet you, Mr Captain, sir.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head, “Please, call me Steve.” You could practically feel the tension radiating off of Peter next to you, so you snapped out of the trance that Steve’s eyes had you in and you turned to face him, silently asking ‘what’s up’.

Peter just shrugged and grabbed your hand, bringing you to the other side of the couch, introducing you to Steve’s best friend, Bucky Barnes, who was also gorgeous, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, who Peter called ‘the freaky twins’, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and last but not least, Thor.

Who, goddamn, was the living definition of sculpted like a God.

“Oh, wow,” you whispered when you approached the man, a bright smile appearing on his face when he looked to Peter next to you, who already knew you were going to fawn over this guy.

“Ah, the spider child! It has been a long time since we last encountered, how have you been?” Thor grinned, sitting down on a bar stool in the kitchen as we approached him. You felt your cheeks heat up once more when Thor’s intense gaze landing on you, the smile still evident on his face. You had studied Thor and Norse Mythology when you were younger, so being in the presence of him had you weak in the knees.

Peter chuckled, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “Not much, I’ve been in school, I even-”

“You must be Lady... Y/N, is it? Spider told us he was bringing someone to Stark’s extravagant ball!” Thor grinned, placing his hands on your shoulders, nearly knocking you off balance as you struggled to stay upright, Peter’s hand instinctively going to your back.

You felt yourself laugh nervously, “Oh, um, yeah, that’s me. I thought this was just a party, though.”

“It is,” Peter chuckled, “Everything is a ball to Thor, he’s a king.”

“It’s an honour to meet you,” you smiled at Thor, “I’ve heard a lot about you, we even studied you in school.” Peter let out a small groan from beside you, obviously slightly embraced by your fangirling.

Thor chuckled, “Why, it’s an honour to meet you too! Humans are so fascinating, and small, it’s a wonder,” he turned to look around the room, analyzing everyone there. You didn’t really know how to reply to that, so you chuckled lightly and nodded your head, looking over to Peter who was doing the same.

The party was something else. Tony had hired a professional DJ who was constantly keeping a majority of the crowd (practically all of Manhattan) dancing. He had even brought in some of New York City’s finest chefs to cater the food and handle bartending. Although, Thor had some Asgardian liquor that seemed to do everyone quite well.

You had lost Peter a while ago, when he got dragged off by Sam and Bucky, but you found yourself in an entertaining conversation with the Maximoff twins and Steve, taking all of your nerves away from when Peter took off. You wanted to be around him as much as you could tonight, but you felt comfortable in their company, using this chance to bond with Peter’s ‘co-workers.’

“No way!” you giggled, holding onto the cup in your hand - that was filled with water, of course. Tony was very strict about underage drinkers, which would only be you and Peter, when you think about it.

“Yes, way,” Pietro laughed, leaning onto the edge of his seat, “I really thought that the Lord of the Flies was about one big fly!”

Steve found himself laughing too, leaning against the bar counter behind you. You were comfortable around these people already, despite your usual hatred for large crowds.

“That’s alright,” Steve chuckled, “When these guys tried to catch me up on what I had missed in 70 years, I didn’t even know who the Beatles were.” You felt yourself laughing once again, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the man you showed up with. He had been gone for nearly twenty minutes, and you weren’t worried, but you did want him to come back so you could spend the evening with him. You did come here to give you two the chance to bond, after all.

“Hey, Y/N!” You turned your head to follow the voice and saw Sam and Peter walking up to you guys. You felt your body instantly relax in Peter’s presence once again, the comfort he brought you flowing through your body.

“Peter, hey,” you smiled at him once he stood next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, making you blush, “I was looking around for you.”

He gave you a look, leaning down to talk to you without anyone hearing, “You managed to keep your attention from Steve long enough to remember me?”

“What?” you chuckled, feeling yourself blush slightly at both his comment and the proximity of your faces, “Of course, you’re the one I wanted to be around tonight.”

Peter laughed dryly, “Sure.”

“Hey,” you pulled away from him, looking into his eyes, which seemed to avoid yours, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, moving away from you to join the conversation, “Forget it.”

You felt your heart sink, you hated when Peter was mad at you. He was so distant and quiet, it killed you. Part of you wanted to ignore it and have a good time, but you wanted to patch things up with him right away, so you placed your cup down on the bar counter top and grabbed his hand, leading him away from the party and down the same long hallway as before, reaching the last door that led to the kitchen/dining/couch area. You swung it open, dragging Peter inside, to his confusion, and shut the door behind you.

“What are you doing?” he asked when you placed your hands on your hips.

“What’s wrong, Peter? Talk to me.”

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, “I told you, forget it.”

“No,” you shook your head, approaching him and placing a hand on his forearm lightly, “I want to have a good time with you tonight, please tell me what’s bothering you.” You had no idea what you did wrong, if anything, you though Peter would be happy you were getting along with the team, even if he wasn’t around.

He rolled his eyes, “You seem to have a good time around Steve.”

You felt your eyes widen and a small smirk make it’s way onto your face, “Wait, are you - are you jealous, Pete?” You hadn’t thought about the possibility that he was jealous of you hanging around Captain America, but now, the evidence was all there and you were loving it.

He blushed, laughing awkwardly, “N-No, why would I be jealous?”

“Oh, my god, you are!” You placed a hand on your face, a smile taking over as you approached him, his cheeks growing more red by the second, “Aw, Pete, come on, don’t be. You’re my favorite Avenger, you know that.”

“It’s not about that,” he mumbled, looking down to his shoes which became the most fascinating thing in the room to him.

You placed your hand under his chin, lifting his head up to force eye contact, “Tell me, what is it?”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, scanning over your face before looking back into yours, his breath picking up slightly, “I just - I don’t know, I don’t like the way you look at him - Thor too - I want you to look at me like that, you know? Like, I don’t know, I just want you to look at me like I’m something amazing, like Thor, or whatever.”

If your heart wasn’t soaring before, it was now. Your smile was as wide as it could possibly be, and you knew right there and then that Peter felt the same way about you as you did him. You had never expected to get here, and you couldn’t stop yourself from placing your hand on the back of his neck and pulling his lips down to meet yours. He seemed incredible shocked at first, not really kissing back, but when his mind caught up to him, his lips moved softly with yours. His arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him as you felt all of the stress in your body letting go, finally getting the kiss you had been waiting for.

When you pulled away, you placed your forehead against yours, “I do look at you like you’re amazing, I’m just less obvious because I have feelings for you, you doofus, why wouldn’t I?”

You felt him relax under your touch, a massive smile spreading across his face, “I don’t know, do I look like a God?” A chuckle left your body, and before you knew it, Peter’s lips were on yours once again. All the butterflies and fireworks and everything fluttery went off in your stomach as you moved your lips against his, the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you did so made you smile into the kiss, everything feeling incredibly right.

The two of you didn’t return to the party, the idea of staying on the couch and watching movies (cough cough, making out while movies played in the background) sounded much more appealing.

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give-me-back-my-rhodey · 4 years ago

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The Treasures of a Stark - AUgust Day 16

Title: The Treasures of a Stark

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Brief mention of background characters’ racism

Pairings: Sam/Bucky, Rhodey/Tony

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Sam and Bucky are famous Youtube treasure hunters. When searching for treasure that may have part of insurance fraud, they don't expect the grandson of the accused to help out.

+++++++

“So, this time, we’re searching for the insurance fraud dump of Montgomery Stark.” Sam Wilson looks right at the camera. “Rumor is, about fifty years ago, Mr. Stark reported more than half of his heirlooms and precious jewels stolen, racking up millions in insurance money. No one ever knows because he died two months after he collected the money, but there are rumors that the man ‘stole’ the things and buried them somewhere off his property. We’re going to see if we can find it. Montgomery Stark was outlived by his son Howard Stark, who died about fifteen years go. Now, the face of the operation is his son, Tony Stark.” “But if we do find it, we’re not giving it to the insurance company because fuck them.” Bucky adds. “Also fuck Tony Stark, the asshole.” Sam motions to cut, and the camera turns off.

Anyone who watches their show knows that Bucky has a dislike for insurance companies. They have screwed him over too many times. He’s highly distrusting of any high power and is more likely to punch first and ask questions later when feeling threatened. But when it comes to doing things for the thrill or exploring anything haunted, he’s the first one to advocate for it.

Sam, on the other hand, is a little more reasonable. He doesn’t exactly like people in power either, but he isn’t actively hating them. What he actively hates is horror, but he lets Bucky drag him into hunts for haunted treasure. He’s not sure why. Steve is. “Bucky, wasn’t Tony Stark the one who designed that awesome prosthetic?”

“Yeah, but he’s a billionaire. Fuck him.”

Sam shakes his head. “Ok, well, you can do that, but I’m going to research this a little more.” He gets up and doesn’t notice Bucky’s face behind him. Pulling out maps and the case files, Sam tries to figure out where the late Mr. Stark could have hidden his stash. Bucky sits at the table a few minutes later.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks.

Sam hands him the printed statements from everyone the police had interviewed while the case was open. “Here, read through these. See if anything looks useful.”

Bucky gets to work, and Sam plots different coordinates into his maps. He’s not finding anything anywhere until Bucky slides over a paper that has the statement of Montgomery Stark’s housekeeper, a Madeline Foster. They first ask her if she was there the night of the robbery. She advised that no, she was not, as she starts work and 6am and leaves at 7pm each day. The robbery took place around 9pm. After clearing herself after a few more questions, they begin to interview her with the view of Montgomery Stark committing insurance fraud. She told them that she doubts he did because “Mr. Stark runs on a schedule that he hasn’t broken for the last fifty years.” Ms. Foster goes on to give the police Montgomery’s full schedule.

“We can work with this. See where these places are. I wonder if any of these places has anywhere that he could have hidden it.” Sam grins.

They both work on the case for a good five hours before they both call it a day. “We’ll get back to it tomorrow.” Bucky stretches. “Hey, Steve texted me, asking if I wanted to grab dinner. Wanna come?”

“I don’t want to third-wheel if Steve wants it to be you two.” Sam isn’t sure why Bucky does this. Does he not want to be in a relationship with Steve, but he doesn’t know how to break up with him?

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Sam, Steve and I, we’re like brothers. There is, never was, and never will be any romantic love between us. Only platonic and familial. Now, come on. I can even buy you dinner if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I can pay for my own.” Sam shoves him. “I’m not going to be your sugar baby.”

They meet Steve at their favorite local restaurant. He asks them about their newest project. When they tell him, he warns them, “The Starks can be pretty private. I knew Howard Stark before he died, and he was nice enough, but I didn’t really know anything about him.”

Bucky swears. “It figures. If they hear anything about it, they’ll shut us down. Can’t stand to let us find out hidden family secrets.”

“We’re not that big. I’m sure they won’t hear about it.” Sam tries to reassure them.

++++++++

Sam and Bucky try to find clues to help them figure out where Montgomery Stark might have hidden his treasure. After two weeks of no progress, they are wondering if they should just give up. They hear their secretary say something in a loud voice, and another voice answers her. “What’s going on out there?” Bucky wonders.

“Sir, you can’t just walk back there! You need to book an appointment!” Darcy is getting closer.

The other voice replies. “Relax. I just want to talk to them. I’m not going to hurt them. This door?” The door opens… and Tony Stark walks through.

“Fuck.” Bucky mumbles. “Guess Steve was right.”

Stark looks at them, then holds out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Wilson & Mr. Barnes, I presume? I’m Tony Stark, and I’m here to talk to you.”

“Sam Wilson, sir. Nice to meet you.” Sam shakes it. “This is my colleague, Bucky Barnes.”

“Ah, the first Stark Prosthetic. Does it meet your needs and expectations?”

Surprised that Tony Stark would remember a name, Bucky stumbles over his words. “Y-yeah it works…. Um… pretty good, I I guess.”

“Pretty good is not good enough. If we have time today (and you’d like), I would take a look at it for you. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I heard wind that you were looking into Grampa Monty’s treasure.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Bucky challenges.

Stark shakes his head. “No, I want to help you. The truth is, I fully believe that my grandfather committed insurance fraud. Which is kind of a dick move because 1.) my grandmother was so disturbed by the whole ordeal; she spent the rest of her life in bed. Not that he knew, I guess, because he died a few months after the robbery. Bad karma is my guess. Also, 2.) much of that stuff was my mother’s jewels from her family. He had no right to collect insurance on any of that, but he did. Now, I would like my mother’s belongings. I’m not sure how it works, but if I have to pay the insurance companies back, I will. If you have any clues, I will help you out in any way that I can.”

“Are you ok with being videoed for the episode?” Sam asks. “We will have to get our lawyers to draw up a form for you to sign.”

“Of course. I don’t want to be a bother. Take your time. Here’s my card. Please, give me a call when you can, and I will come down as soon as possible. Thank you for you time.” Stark nods and walks out the door. They can hear him thanking Darcy as he leaves.

She comes in a few minutes later. “I’m sorry guys. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“It’s ok Darcy. There was nothing you could do about it.” Bucky smiles at her. “Thanks for trying.”

“I like what you do, and you guys pay me well.” She winks.

When Darcy goes back to her desk, Bucky turns to Sam. “What do you think?”

“I mean, he seems like he’s eager to help us.” Sam nods. “He can probably get us into different high-end things that we could not on our own. Want to call Matt and Foggy?”

“Yes. I think they might have some good insight.”

Sam calls their lawyers, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, explaining the situation. They advise to make a strict NDA for Tony to sign. If he’s ok with it or only requests small changes (to be okayed by them), they would advise to go forward with Stark’s help. An NDA is drawn up and forwarded to Stark. He arrives the next day with it and another man in hand.

“Everything looks good. It is signed and noted. Shall we start?” He questions.

“Tones.” The other guy gives him a look.

Smacking his forehead, Stark looks embarrassed. “Fuck. I forgot. Gentlemen, this is my boyfriend, Colonel James Rhodes. I call him Rhodey. Rhodey, this is Mr. Sam Wilson and Mr. Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you,” The colonel says, shaking their hands. “Call me Rhodey.”

“Rhodey signed the NDA as well, so you don’t have to worry about me trying to loophole something with him. We are going to do this with integrity.”

Bucky and Sam give each other a look, both seemingly swept up in Tony Stark’s big personality. Rhodey notices and gives him a small shove. “Tones, this is their show. We’re just in the background pulling strings to help them.”

“That’s right. Tell us where we need to be and what we need to do.”

Sam takes control. “Thank you, gentlemen. If you want to take a seat at the table, we are just going through these papers with a fine-toothed comb to see if there’s anything we missed.”

The cameras roll, and the four men go through the papers. Tony finds Ms. Foster’s statement, and he holds it up. “This could be huge. Let’s see… the house was robbed on a Tuesday. He probably would have stashed the loot in the next two days, wouldn’t you think?” He looks to the others for confirmation. “Ok, so his Wednesday schedule. Come down for breakfast at 6:30. Go into the office by 7. He wouldn’t have kept the stuff at the office because police did a full sweep of SI as well. Wednesday lunches were spent at La Palova. That’s a pretty exclusive restaurant with plenty of cameras. Let’s just say for now that it’s probably not there. Back to office by one, wow, he kept a really tight schedule. Old Monty left the office at 230 to golf at Emerald Isle. Tons of open land there. Be home by 730 for dinner. I mean, there’s time, but not much. Sorry, am I taking over here?”

“No, you’re the only one who knows about this stuff, so keep going.”

“Ok. Thursday schedule, almost the same. Gives himself an hour for lunch, but after work, he likes to drive in the canyon. He was too old for much exercise, I’d bet, but maybe he likes to watch the sunset? The sunsets there are beautiful. Also, a great place to hide not-really-stolen treasure.”

Rhodey speaks up, “There’s also that little bend where we used to go to make out away from the house, remember? For a guy who spent his whole life driving the canyon, he should know all the ins and outs.”

“Are you saying that we might have had sex on top of my mother’s heirlooms?” Tony shudders. “That’s creepy.”

Bucky and Sam share that look again. Sam shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Okayyyy… we do not need to know more. Remember, the camera is rolling. So, you think that Montgomery Stark hid the stuff in the canyon?”

“I honestly think he hid it somewhere on the golf course. He owned shares in the course and the club, so technically, no one could ask him why he’s on any part of the land. I wonder if that got passed down.” Tony hums. “I think Monty would’ve thought that people would be suspicious of the canyon.”

“Well, when we actually get our resources, we can split up into two bands. Mr. Stark, you can take one of us to the golf course. Rhodey, you can take the other to the canyon. There will be a lot of exploring to be done.” Bucky advises.

Sam tacks on. “Yea, and we have more than one camera so we can film both of us at the same time.”

By the end of the week, Sam and Bucky think they have the resources they need to scope out both places. They banter back and forth like normal throughout the week. As they’re arguing about who’s going to the golf course and who’s going to the canyon, when Tony asks, “Hey, I meant to ask you. How long have you guys been dating?”

Bucky chokes and Sam coughs. “We’re… not… dating.” He says and looks at Bucky.

“Oh, just fucking? Like friends with benefits?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

Rhodey admonishes. “Tony, language. Camera is rolling.”

“Ah, they’ll edit it out. Listen boys, if you’re not dating or at least screwing, you should. You got some serious charisma. Kind of like my honeybear and me.” He smooches Rhodey on the cheek.

“Well, we’re not. End of discussion.” Bucky knows his face is bright red. He really likes Sam, and he thinks Sam likes him. However, he’s too afraid to make the first move. He doesn’t want to mess up the team dynamic.

Tony smirks. “Whatever. I think I can answer your question, though. Due to the fact that old elitist country clubs are still pretty fucking racist, it might be better if I take Bucky. Unfortunately, there will be less suspicion, and we can get through a lot faster without someone trailing us at all times. You should have seen the last time I took Rhodey somewhere like that. I refused to go back.” He shudders. “I’ll see what I can do if we have to go back a second day, but…” Tony trails off.

Sam slings an arm around Rhodey’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ll have fun exploring the canyon and talking about you white boys.”

“If you’re sure. I’m sorry we had to make a decision that way, you know?” Tony smiles sadly.

+++++++++

The next day, Tony takes Bucky to the Emerald Isle golf course. They talk about this and that, but Tony notices Bucky is a little withdrawn. “Hey, you ok?” He asks.

“Yea, I’m just trying to figure out what my friend would say if he found out I was hanging out with a billionaire today.”

“Eat the rich kind of guy?” Tony knows a few of those.

Bucky grins. “Yea. I am, too.”

“Well, you surely aren’t pulling any punches. Do you have any questions for me?” Tony is genuinely interested. Barnes seemed like a level-headed kind of guy. He might have some good ideas for Tony to try.

“I do, actually. How do you feel about making a difference in the world?”

“I am very strongly for it, but I don’t always need my name on things, contrary to popular belief. They call me a billionaire because I earn billions annually. However, I and the company pay most of our taxes without using loopholes. Other than voting and lobbying a little, I can’t convince the government to do the right thing with the money. Yes, I do have multiple houses and cars, and I even own an island, but much of my money is sunk into various charities and funds around the world. Some have my name backing them, like the September Grants, but plenty of them are given anonymously so my accountant can’t get mad at me for not taking the tax breaks. So, yes, I do want to help change the world for the better, but I don’t want it to seem like I, myself made the world better.”

Bucky just nods. They make small talk again until Tony brings up Sam. “I think he’s a great guy. You have a great co-worker in him.”

“Yea, and he’s the love of my life.” Bucky sighs.

Tony turns to look at him, and Bucky warns. “Eyes on the road.”

“I will.” Tony turns back. “But you love him? Why don’t you tell him? Do you know amazing your life would be?”

“I don’t want to mess up our already good thing. I mean, I think he likes me, but what if he doesn’t? What if we date and then break up, and we can’t do this anymore? It’s not easy to find a job with a prosthetic.”

“You could start your own channel. People like you enough. They’ll watch you.” Tony suggests. “But if you want it to last, don’t think about what will happen if it doesn’t.”

“I’ll think about it.” Bucky mutters.

Tony pulls into the Emerald Isle valet parking area. “We’re here.” He hands the valet his keys and tips him. “Follow me.”

He leads Bucky to the manager’s office where he tells the man at the desk that he just realized he inherited the shares from Howard, and he’s looking over the property to see if he should buy more shares, sell these, or stay where I’m at. Do you mind if I take my guy and look around?”

The manager stammers and acquiesces. He gives Tony keys to a golf cart and a map of the property. They start scouting, the camera guy sitting in the back of the cart. “You know what you’re looking for more than me.” Tony tells Bucky. Let me know if you want me to pull over somewhere.”

++++++ “So, how long have you and Tony been together?” Sam asks as Rhodey drives him down the interstate towards the canyon.

Rhodey shrugs. “Nineteen, twenty years? We started dating when he was nineteen. I was twenty-one.”

“You guys seem to have what it takes. I’m happy for you.” He wishes he and Bucky could have that, but he knows that Bucky doesn’t like him that way.

“Thanks. Yea, Tony can be a complete dumbass eighty percent of the time, but he’s a loveable one, you know?”

Sam nods. He knows someone like that. He sighs. If Bucky’s not for him, Buck’s not for him. End of story. He’ll find someone else at some point. “So, how’s life as a colonel? That’s got to be rough on your relationship, especially before DADT was repealed.”

“I am happy with my job. I do get more leave because I date Tony Stark, who supplies the military with hi-tech equipment that can’t be weaponized. He won’t make them weapons of any sort anymore.”

“I don’t blame him. Weapons manufacturing is not a business I’d like to be in.” The two chat about whatever comes to mind until Rhodes pulls off the road at a bend in the canyon.

“Ok here. There are caves just beyond this bend. Most of them have never been explored. I’ll show you the ones we have definitely been in.”

“Oh yes, now I’ll be imagining your sexploits.” Sam groans and Rhodey chuckles. “Now, we have to think… Montgomery was an old man at this point. There’s no way he could have dug very deep.”

Rhodey mans the camera, and Sam grabs a shovel. They head toward the caves. Cave after cave, Sam checks the ground for any areas that may have been dug up and replaced. Those he did find were too small to hold anything like the stash the late Stark would have had. Further and further back they go until Rhodey is worried about the wall stability. “We should probably stay closer to the cave openings.”

After going through all the caves and finding nothing, Sam relaxes back against the cave wall. “Whew. Maybe Tony was right. There’s nothing here.” The wall moves a little, and he jumps out. Turning, he and Rhodey see a 10” by 10” hold in the wall. Looking inside, they see a small pile of jewels and gold bars!

Sam whips out his phone to call Bucky just as his phone starts ringing. “Hello?”

“Sam! We found some of the treasure! It was in a secret room in a shed near the edge of the property. It was all overgrown because no one has been there for years!” Bucky sounds very excited.

“We found the rest! It was in a secret wall in one of the caves! Are you taking it with you today? We’re going to grab this stuff.” Sam is smiling widely.

Putting on gloves, Sam slides all the treasures into a knapsack. Once done, they walk out of the cave. Rhodey looks back at it, squinting. “Tony’s not going to be happy about this.” He grins.

“Don’t tell me.” Sam warns. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Rhodey drops Sam off at home. “Put that in a safe or something til tomorrow.” He warns. “Hey Sam, also, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but Barnes likes you, too. He makes heart-eyes at you all day. If your fans can see it, it’s there.” Sam nods and Rhodey drives off.

++++++ “So, friends, that’s how we found treasure and solved a crime in the episode!” Sam grins.

“Also, when Tony asked the question of how long we’ve been dating, we have an answer for him now.” Bucky adds in. “It has been a week ago today.” Sam and Bucky kiss in front of the camera as the screen fades to black.

“Wow, this episode got a lot of love,” Tony comments. “I’d like to think it was all me. Also.” He turns to Rhodey. “I can’t believe we blew each other right beside my mother’s jewels. I think her ghost is attached to those things. I may have scarred her for her entire afterlife.”

“Tell me, does ‘Bam’ or ‘Sucky’ sound better as a ship name?” Bucky speaks up. “Twitter made a poll.”

Sam swats at Bucky’s shoulder. “Tell them Sambucky. They should learn how to name things correctly.” They share a kiss again. Sam is happy he had the courage to talk to Bucky. Spending the rest of his life with this man sounds like a good idea.

#sambucky #ironhusbands #treasure hunt au #tw: racism mention #au_gust_2020 #i write!#mentions of smut

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 years ago

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Making Bad Look Good Part 2

A second part! Featuring... Two-Face, Deathstroke, Deadshot, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Mad Hatter, Hush, Zsasz, Klarion the Witch Boy, and the Court of Owls!

I got a ton of requests for these, and you’ve all been so helpful! This one’s for you!

Making Bad Look Good part 2 - a.k.a. another 6 Degrees of Evil Bacon

Warning: Long post ahead.

Two-Face - Harvey Dent

You met Two-Face back when he was District Attorney for Gotham.

He was no “Ce-SEAL-Your-Fate” Horton from Central City, but he was doing a bang-up job putting criminals behind bars, cracking their insanity pleas.

So you went to meet him after a case where he got the Penguin sentenced to Blackgate instead of Arkham.

Sure, he’ll probably escape, but the precedent the case sets is important.

“Mr. Wayne! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just came to meet our amazing new D.A.”

You make small talk, until you decide to ask him to lunch to congratulate him on the case.

He grins. “Okay. But we’ll flip a coin for the check. Heads, you pay. Tails, my treat.”

You shrug.

He flips a strange coin that he tells you is his lucky charm.

It comes up heads, on the side that looks like it’s been corroded.

You smirk. “That’s a double-headed coin, isn’t it?”

He laughs. “Yup. Most people don’t get it so quick.”

He shakes your hand and offers to pay anyway since you were such a good sport.

After he becomes Two-Face, it’s this moment you choose to remember...

Deathstroke and Deadshot - Slade Wilson and Floyd Lawton

There have been quite a few times when you were targeted by an assassin or two.

But that particular time, you were the prize for a competition between them.

Slade and Lawton had been hired to take you out, but only the actual killer would get the other half of the payment.

So one day, Deadshot is setting up the hit, angling a crazy shot to hit you through the back of the skull and bamboozle all ballistics tests. You come into range, and he shoots -

-only to see you get shoved out of the way by the eyepatch-ed Slade Wilson.

Bruce wants to sequester you in the Batcave, but instead, you tell him to set up a meeting as Batman.

It’s fun to throw money at problems.

On a rooftop, the Bat behind you, you offer Slade and Lawton double the total for your contract to give you the name of their employer and void the hit.

It’s technically against whatever assassin code there is, but you know, money tends to grease the wheels of any machine.

Deadshot takes the money and tells you it was some crackpot billionaire trying to get at Bruce. He also chuckles and says that he’s available if you ever have more money to throw and a grudge for him to carry out.

Deathstroke also takes the money and nods at you before leaving.

And while Slade comes back to torment you and your sons time and again, Floyd is actually quite pleasant. You sometimes hire him when you need security, which he calls easy money, and from that point, your husband almost never encounters him on the job...

Harley Quinn - Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel

“Paging Dr. Quinzel. Dr. Quinzel, to the front desk.”

You and some other Gotham big shots were invited to Arkham for a publicity tour. Reporters are there, too, including Clark, so you feel pretty safe.

A surprisingly young woman comes to play tour guide, her hair in slight pigtails.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Quinzel. Currently I’m junior psychologist here at Arkham Asylum.” She has a bit of a New York accent, though you can tell she’s worked hard to soften it.

One reporter asks just how “junior” she is, and she gives an indulgent chuckle. “Yes, I graduated med school early, so I’m a bit young for a specialized doctor. But I’m also one of the only medical professionals still willing to work at Arkham, so I think that’s what counts, right?”

The tour goes well enough, until you raise your hand. “You’re the psychologist in charge of the Joker, right?”

Dr. Quinzel smiles in a strange way. “Yes, that I am.”

You frown. “And do you think, as a junior psychologist, you’re adequately prepared for him?”

“I know that I am a medical professional, Mr. Wayne, and I am certainly qualified to examine my patients.”

But Dr. Quinzel, just for a moment, looks fractured, torn. Like there’s some sort of internal war raging in her soul. But it gets absorbed in her too-wide smile.

You put it down to nerves about meeting the press, and let it go.

You always wonder if there was something you could’ve done for the woman, prevented it from all going wrong, prevented her from becoming Harley Quinn...

Poison Ivy - Dr. Pamela Isley

Pamela was going to college at about the same time you were.

You weren’t friends, exactly, although you did both share a class in Professor Crane’s Intro Psych course (an elective for both of you).

There were a lot of rumors about her. You chose not to engage in the gossip, especially as it was a lot about her sleeping with her Biology professor for a better grade.

You had to do a project with her for your final grade, and she invited you to her apartment to work on it together.

It was full of plants. She mentions it before you have a chance to even think about bringing them up.

“They’re my babies.” she jokes. “So much easier to take care of than pets.”

You smile. “All the oxygen probably helps you work better, right?”

She nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

She talks about how she’s going to be a botanist when she graduates, and she’s going to work for the EPA. She’s very self-interested, but genuine, and you have fun while working on the project.

But only a few weeks after you turn in the project, she disappears. Rumors abound about how she ran off with the Bio professor. Some say they were having an affair. Others are kinder and say they’re on a botanical conservation mission in some swamp somewhere.

Either way, you never see Pamela again.

At least, until Poison Ivy shows up in town...

(Side note: Drew Barrymore as Poison Ivy? Thoughts?)

Mr. Freeze - Dr. Victor Fries

Fries shows up one day out of nowhere

Just shooting with that cold gun.

He attacks a gala event for the Wayne Foundation and holds it up for jewelry and the cash being raised for the underprivileged of Gotham..

You glare at him. “You know you’re just taking money right out of the pocket of needy kids, right?”

“It’s for a good cause.” He says darkly.

“And what cause would that be?”

He sneers at you. “Disease research, mainly.”

The phrase surprises you.

Later, Bruce is doing research at the Batcave. “He goes by Mr. Freeze. Born: Victor Fries. Wife Nora suffers from Stage Four of a rare pneumonia-like condition known as MacGregor Syndrome. He had her cryogenically frozen, and now it seems like he’s turned to crime to fund his research into a cure.”

You hesitate. “Well... is there something we can do to help him?”

“Help him? May I remind you that he held hundreds of people hostage?”

“Well...” you shrug. “I just figure that maybe he wouldn’t be so... crime-y if his wife was being taken care of. I don’t know what I’d do if I was so close to losing you.”

Bruce softens slightly. “Look, Freeze committed a crime - several crimes, and he has to go to jail. But if it makes you feel better, we can have Wayne Enterprise’s medical division look into studying her disease. Judging from what I see here, MacGregor Syndrome has similarities with many other diseases. It might be a key in finding lots more cures.”

You smile and hug him. “Lead with that. Tell Fries that we’re willing to do that.”

Of course, Fries’ future crimes are due to the cost of maintaining his portable cryogenic suit, but you hear a lot less about it than you expect, especially since Nora is being taken care of...

Mad Hatter - Jervis Tetch

You were meeting a couple of old school friends at a tea parlor one day. It’s nice to escape the stress of your life and reminisce.

Roland and Alicia are a cute couple, and they tell you they have a baby on the way.

But the day is marred by a strange incident in which a small man in a top hat and tails (tuxedo tails) comes up to your table and starts babbling at Alicia, calling her “Alice” and trying to touch her blond hair, despite her attempts to shove him away..

Roland gets angry and punches the man, but before he can go any further, you pull him back.

The strange man glances at you. “The Dormouse...” he mutters, and walks away.

“What a creep.” Alicia shudders.

You’ve already figured it out. The man is deluded, thinking he’s the Mad Hatter, and he seems to be trying to fit everything into his Wonderland-inspired delusions. You tell Bruce about this, and he immediately agrees that Alicia is in danger.

You go to their hotel room to see them, warn them, but Roland answers the door wearing a bowler hat and Alicia is nowhere to be found.

Roland attacks you, knocking you out and kidnapping you.

Thankfully Bruce has been watching as Batman and follows.

You wake up tied to a chair around a tea table. Alicia is tied to another chair in an Alice-in-Wonderland costume, looking terrified.

Jervis Tetch reveals himself and points out his minions, enslaved with his mind control headwear.

“Very spiffy, if I do say so myself.” you say cheerily. “Quite the milliner you are, my good sir.” (Alicia looks at you like you’re crazy)

Jervis loves the flattery, and it distracts him long enough for Batman to smash through the glass ceiling and knock the hat off his head, disabling the control.

Sure, no one was hurt much, but needless to say you would have to visit Alicia and Roland in the future instead of ever having them come to Gotham...

Hush - Dr. Tommy Elliot

“We’re having lunch with an old friend of mine.” Bruce announces.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wait a minute. Why don’t I know who this is? We have pretty much all the same old friends. I mean, we were together, like, all the time.”

“You remember Tommy, right?”

“Tommy? No, Tommy doesn’t ring a bell, hon.”

Bruce sighs, and you laugh. This is as animated as you’ve seen him in a while. “Come on, Tommy Elliot! Back when we were little! We used to play Robin Hood together in the park, and you two always fought over who got to be the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“Yeah, nope. No memory of that.”

He sighs, but you go with him anyway. It hits you when you see the man at the restaurant. He was that kid! His parents were friends with Bruce’s parents. They had almost died in an accident when Bruce’s dad saved them.

He’d always try to play this strategy game thing with you and Bruce. It was only two players, and while he’d always beat Bruce (your husband wasn’t always the tactician he was now), he’d get really frustrated playing against you.

Tommy liked to try and get inside your head to beat you, figure out what you were going to do and then planning for it.

But you could tell what he was doing, and kept doing random moves you wouldn’t normally play, throwing him off and winning.

You didn’t like him much, and you kinda got the feeling he didn’t like Bruce that much either.

“Oh. That Tommy.”

Bruce looks at your worried face. “What’s wrong? If you really don’t want to, we can cancel.”

“Oh, hush. We’re already here. Least we can do is have a nice lunch...”

Zsasz - Victor Zsasz

It’s never a good sign when a payphone rings. So many bad reasons...

Not the least of which is that barely anyone even uses payphones anymore.

Let alone to call another payphone. I mean, how does that even work?

So it startles you when you’re walking Gotham (during the day, of course), and a payphone rings. No one else is around to answer it.

You start to walk away, and then the next payphone rings when you reach it.

The other guy near it jumps like fifty feet in the air, but then goes to answer it.

He looks scared. “It’s... it’s for you.”

You sigh and take the phone

“Ignoring my calls? Naughty...”

“Um... wrong number. This is a payphone, not, uh, whoever you were calling.”

“This isn’t Y/N Wayne?”

“Yeah, no, it isn’t. May I ask who’s calling, though?”

“I know it’s you, Y/N. You don’t know me. Yet.”

“Look, I know Halloween’s coming up, but I’m not in the mood for Scream right now, okay?”

“This isn’t a scary movie, it’s real. My name is Zsasz.”

“Z- zsa... okay, how is that spelled?”

“Z. S. A. S. Z.”

“Oh, that’s beautiful. If you don’t mind me asking, is that Polish?”

“...What?”

“Sorry, I have to run, but it was nice talking to you!”

You run home and immediately tell Bruce you talked to Zsasz. Luckily you were running a trace with your phone - a little extra Tim developed for you. Within the hour, Batman has Zsasz in custody, saving the poor people he had kidnapped to add to his tally...

Klarion the Witch Boy

“Oh, hello! Who are you, little guy?”

The orange tabby glares at you with utter hate. It flicks its tail, but surprisingly, comes closer and curls around your legs.

It allows you to pick it up, and it purrs.

“Teekl! My word!” a boy comes running up to you, wearing a tailored suit and a newsboy cap.

The boy snatches the tabby from you and pets it, despite how it looks like it wants to go back to you. “What were you doing with Teekl?”

“That’s its name? He’s a cute little guy. Uh, he just wandered in front of me and basically asked me to pet him.”

The boy glares at the cat. “You TALKED to him?”

The cat looks at him and rolls its eyes.

“Um, who are you, kid?”

He looks at you incredulously. “Seriously, mortal? You haven’t heard of me? I am Klarion! Klarion the Witch Boy! And this is my familiar, Teekl.”

You nod seriously. “Good for you, kid.”

He seems about to throw a tantrum, so you wave and leave the boy dumbfounded...

The Court of Owls

“Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,

Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,

Speak not a whispered word of them

Or they’ll send the Talon for your head...”

“That’s a stupid poem. It doesn’t even keep time.”

“It’s free verse.”

“Yeah, free ‘cause no one would pay for it.”

You and Bruce were only kids when you heard the old rhyme. Bruce was trying to scare you as a Halloween season joke, but it wasn’t working.

“Come on, Y/N! At least pretend to play along!”

Thomas Wayne enters the living room, and pretends to scold Bruce. “Now, Bruce, be hospitable to your guest. What’s the argument about?”

You smirk. “Bruce says that there’s a Court of Owls who eat limes and put talons on people’s heads.”

Thomas hunches down, making a spooky face. “Well, Y/N, it’s an old Gotham story. It’s a very bad thing that Bruce told you. You’ll have to be very careful now.”

He looks dead serious, and now you’re scared. “Really? What should I do, Mr. Wayne?”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll have to be a very good kid all your life, Y/N. Never go out after dark without your parents’ permission. Don’t ever cheat on a test. Don’t lie. And if you ever see someone in an Owl mask, look the other way and forget you saw it.”

He grins, dropping the facade. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I just couldn’t help it. Hope I didn’t scare you too badly.”

Being a stubborn child, you insist he didn’t. After all, you’re old enough not to be scared by that stuff anymore.

But on the way home, after your parents pick you up, you notice something.

A tall figure in an alley, wearing a stylized white Owl mask.

You quickly look away, trying to put it out of your head, mumbling the rhyme to yourself.

“Beware the Court of Owls...”

You forget about this until far later in life, after you, as Y/N Wayne, have become an enemy of the dreaded Court...

#batdad reader #male reader #batman x male reader #batman headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanon

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authoressskr · 5 years ago

Text

Write Into My Arms [1]

Characters: f!Reader, James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Hope Van Dyne, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Okoye, T’Challa, Shuri, Clint Barton, Happy Hogan, Dr. Strange, Wong, Bruce Banner, Amelina Rodrigez (OFC), with mentions of Thor, Carol Danvers, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, Peter Quill, Gamora, Nebula, Mantis and Drax.

Warnings: Language, Action (in last chapter) and no Beta (just me and Grammerly up in here) :: Word Count: 8885 :: Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

This was written for @jewelofwinter’s Writing Challenge!! I also incorporated a prompt for @jaamesbbarnes + @sgtjbuccky’s D&S’ Milestone Celebration!!

Prompt: “Tin Man lost Y/N.” (@jewelofwinter’s prompt) + “Publicly, I agree. Personally, I think it’s chickenshit.” (D&S’ prompt) Bolded in text below. Prompt #1 will appear in the third part while Prompt #2 appears in the second part. The next two parts will be posted by the end of this week. All three will be linked.

Summary: You’re a small time blog writer who is invited to interview the Avengers. ALL the Avengers.

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Looking around the compound’s living room, you can’t help but openly stare. Everything is expensive, even the doorknobs seem to know their elevated worth.

You’ve circled the room three times so far, each time slower than the last as your keen eyes searching out every minute detail. You’ve been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, which isn’t too much of a bother, and from what you’d heard from other reporters and writers isn’t that long of a wait for Tony Stark. Although your boss said that the article was supposed to cover all of the inhouse Avengers…

Happy, Tony’s chauffeur/bodyguard and right-hand man, had brought you into this room and at this point, your overthinking has begun to wonder if being made to wait here is a diversion so that he can get all the Avengers to clear out. After all, Stark Industries controls most of the press about the Avengers and they don’t do interviews...except Tony and every so often, the good Captain Rogers.

You wonder briefly if watching some YouTube would be extremely unprofessional or just a mild, millennial version of unprofessionalism.

Deciding against it, you sit on the plushest and buttery soft black leather couch, fishing around your large purse for your notebook. Carefully flipping past the first pages, you look over the list of Avengers you’ve compiled - along with basic stats, going over them for the umpteenth time since being assigned this article. And, being the person you are, you had arranged them by age, willingness to talk to you, and then on difficulty on opening up for the story.

Fishing out a pen, you make a few last-minute notes, only to feel that tell-tale prickle at the back of your neck alerts you to the three figures lingering in the large entryway that leads towards a hallway. You pop up, smoothing out your dress bottom nervously.

“Oh! Hello. I’m Y/N, writer for Undefined Muses. I’m, uh, here to interview you?”

“You don’t seem to know if you are or not,” Hawkeye, Clint Barton, says with a big smile - the last yellow traces of a bruise fading on his left cheek.

“I wasn’t sure who all had agreed to participate - and I don’t want to force anyone to do if they aren’t interested.”

“Normally, the reporters are kind of rabid about these kinds of interviews,” Natasha replies smoothly, moving into the room and perching on the arm of an oversized loveseat. She’s dressed impeccably, looking like a glamorous movie star from the thirties, with high waist black dress pants and a dark blue silk shirt with tiny red roses dotted all over.

“Well, my boss sent me because I’m,” You pause, searching for the right word. “Demure.”

“I honestly was waiting for you to say ‘unrabid’.” Clint chuckles out, tossing himself into the loveseat that Natasha is perched on directly across from where you stand.

“I’m not sure what writer would use the word ‘unrabid’. I’m also 90% sure that isn’t a word.”

“Only 90%?” Natasha queries, smiling so knowingly it makes you a little wary.

“Well, he said it, so thus it has been made a word. But you won’t find it in a dictionary. So yes, 90%.”

The large brunet, whom you knew as James Barnes, still stood by the hallway they must have come from, watching the interactions with storm blue eyes. Your shoulders tighten, straightening as you realize that they’d sent all the previous assassins in first. Quite the unsettling welcome wagon… Wait. Was this a weird sort of game? Like chicken? You very nearly chuckle, if that’s the case, because little did these people know you weren’t the bravest person - content with hiding behind your words, telling others amazing and heart wrenching stories.

“Will you all be participating?” You finally manage to get out with a smile without nerves making it forced.

“They will,” Comes the answer from behind you - Tony Stark himself, Iron Man in the flesh, says with a confidence you’d only seen on tv. “Miss Y/L/N. So glad you could make it. Plane ride enjoyable?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you so much for the use of your plane.” He waves a hand as he flashes a megawatt smile.

“No problem. No problem at all. Now, I know they’ve probably introduced themselves but that is Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and one of the 100 plus pair, Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you all,” They all nod as Tony rubs his hands together then claps.

“Now, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, I’ll have Happy drop your luggage in there while I show you around -”

“I’m sorry - uh, staying?” You tilt your head a tad to the left, blinking at the illustrious Mr. Stark.

“Yes. Of course, you’ll be staying here in the compound. Rhodey, Steve, and Sam are headed home as we speak, should be here sometime early tonight. Wanda and Vision are on their way back, they were having brunch at a nearby vineyard. Oh, and Thor, the Guardians of the Galaxy, and Captain Danvers should be in - oh, I don’t know - maybe 3 or 4 days. Everyone else is on site.” Logically, you know your mouth is open. You also know you should close it, but the shock…

Every. Single. Avenger.

Fuck.

“Um, I just...Sir, I didn’t mean...I only just brought...ALL OF THEM??”

“To answer your oh so eloquent questions, I did tell your boss I would be getting you as many as possible. I would have thought Mrs. Rodrigez, was it?, would have conveyed the seriousness,” He gives a little huff, smile firmly in place. “Anyhow, you’ll manage. FRIDAY will have a list of shops that will deliver here - we have a tab, just feel free to add to it.”

“Sir -”

“Tony,” He corrects.

“Tony. I will manage my own clothes, thank you. My boss did stress the importance of this interview block. I was told, however, that this was by choice for the Avengers or Stark Industries staff. Not that you’d make them come from outer space to be riddled with questions. And, Tony, I honestly don’t know why our little site was chosen to write these interviews to begin with, sir. How do you even know who I am…” You were so focused on Tony that you hadn’t realized that Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Pepper Potts (Stark?), Bruce Banner, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne and a man of Asian descent you couldn’t place had entered the room. Tony moves closer, peering over the couch and down into your purse, finger pulling at one of the edges to see into it.

“Well, that’s simple. I asked for you.” Eyebrows shoot upward in shock before your forehead furrows. “See, Pep read a piece you did on library and book importance - specifically in young and all school-age children. It was lying around, so I read it. And you know what? I liked the emotion. The thoughtfulness behind it. Every word was picked with such care - constructed to paint a picture. And that’s what I want you to do for us.” He gestures for you to sit, which you give a gentle shake of your head at and takes up the seat you’d been in before. He leans forward, one elbow balanced on his knee as he looks up at you. “We get good press, bad press too, but I want people to see the big picture. We’re a team. We’re a family. We sacrifice a lot to be able to do what we do. Paint that picture for me.” The spell Tony seemed to have cast on you raised and you look around to see the whole room staring at you, waiting.

You swallow hard and nod a couple of times. “I’ll do my best, Tony.” He rises and gives a nod of his own, flashing you a smile tinged with sadness that he quickly hides.

“Good. Good. Let’s get you into a guest room and then the tour. But first, some more introductions.”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

The voice in your room, in all the building you suppose, FRIDAY as she introduced herself, announced that dinner would be casual dress and served in an hour. Tony had been a gracious host, informing you he’d canceled your room at the winery - that, coincidentally, Wanda and Vision had been having brunch at earlier - before sashaying around the compound with Pepper, Scott, and Hope all in tow like a little tour group. Tony dutifully recited when it was built, remodeled, rebuilt. The layout and their functions. He adds little tidbits about visiting when he was little, making everything a little more real for you. You walk beside him, with him sometimes latching onto your elbow as you talk softly into your recorder, reminding yourself to get pictures of certain areas later with your camera.

It had been nice, Scott was witty and said aloud most of the smart ass comments you’d been thinking. Pepper kept Tony focused and Hope spent as much time as you did asking questions. The tour of the basic facilities ended back where it had begun in the living room, rain beginning to splatter against the massive wall of windows to your left.

You’d managed to find your way back to the room, 5th on the right, to find your overnight bag sitting on the end of the bed next to a plush white robe and a note from Tony stating he’d still asked for the stores to bring over things for you to pick out tomorrow and not to bother fighting him on it. Kicking off your shoes, you’d wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling window in your room to watch the raindrops slide down the glass, tucking your legs under you as you sat on the very soft, thick carpet with your notebook and pen.

Amelina, your boss and best friend, had bought you a gray, faux-leather sunflower embossed one to butter you up. Your little addiction and she knew it. You’d accepted the notebook and the assignment with little hesitation. Only to look at the notebook lying on your desk later and think ‘What the hell have I just done?!’

The first page is an outline of what Amelina had said she wanted from the articles (she ideally wanted to break them into separate pieces with each Avenger getting their own spotlight), your notes on the Avengers from digging online and the preliminary dates the article, or articles, would be posted on the site. Taking a deep breath you flip past the Avengers you’d already made lists for, adding the Guardians, Captain Danvers, Doctor Stranger, Wong (whom you’d met earlier), adding Scott and Hope as well, since they are West Coast-based and you had a 50/50 chance of actually interviewing them initially.

Your recorder would hold the interviews, your verbal notes and memos to take pictures of certain locations...but your gray notebook, that was for your notes and thoughts on their habits, likes and dislikes based on observation, how they interact with you, and how they interact with each other.

The alarm on your phone drags you away from writing a few more observations on the page designated for Pepper Potts, letting you know that you need to get up and changed for dinner. You plug your recorder in to download the tour from earlier while you change and freshen up your hair and makeup.

Your hopping on one foot, trying to shove your foot into the stupid pump when your alarm goes off again. Tossing yourself onto the end of the bed, you unplug your recorder and wiggle your foot into the pump better before heading out the door. You shove the recorder into the pocket of your skirt, making your way down the hall when the intro to “7 Rings” begins playing from the phone in your hand. With a quick swipe you answer, stopping almost halfway down the hall.

“Yes?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone?”

“It is when I’m on my way to dinner and your long-winded call could make me late.”

“Harsh, dude, harsh.” Amelina barely takes a breath before continuing. “So, whatcha got so far?”

“First of all, that isn’t how I work. How long have you known me, Lina? By the way, I’m mad at you.”

“What for?”

“You didn’t tell me I’d be staying here or that I’d be here for two weeks. I looked like an idiot in front of Tony Freaking Stark and Pepper Freaking Potts!” You hiss into the phone, tapping your foot in irritation as she chuckles on the other end of the line.

“Sorry! I honestly didn’t know how long you’d be staying -”

“Well, it’s nice that you let me know that!”

“Mr. Stark just asked how long he could have you on loan. I said a max of three weeks.”

“Oh my god, Amelina,” you groan, letting your head drop forward as you repeat in your head to breathe.

“You are such a -”

“You’re being a real bitch. I would have packed. I would have been prepared. But nooooo! Now I’m standing in a hallway wishing that your brother’s new puppy would pee in your expensive shoes!”

“Now that’s just mean!”

“I’m hanging up now. May Jedi maul all the shoes you hold dear.” You jab your thumb against the screen before taking a deep breath and continuing your trek to the living room.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Apparently ‘casual’ at the Avengers compound is a broad term. Clint is sporting a sweatshirt with the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the front with black jogging pants and loafers. Steve has a dark blue shirt that is miraculously being held together by mere buttons, which you’re afraid if he strains, will lose their valiant efforts to keep his shirt together. His is paired with khakis and the same loafers as Clint, which amuses you for some unknown reason. Sam Wilson has a red t-shirt with a black blazer over it, dark gray jeans and some well-worn boots. As you finish taking in appearances, standing like a wallflower half-hidden by the hallway arch still, you can’t help but wonder if you should pinch yourself to see if this was reality.

Sam spots you first, or is the first to acknowledge it, and makes his way over with a friendly smile painted on his face.

“I’m Sam Wilson, nice to meet you.” His hand extends and nearly swallows your own before giving it a firm shake. You liked that. He wasn’t treating you as delicate. You detested when men did that when shaking hands with women…

“Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you as well.”

“Heard Tony gave you the tour.” He’s got a smirk now, eyes bright and teasing.

“Oh yeah. He offered to let me try out a suit - but only when Pepper and Steve weren’t around.”

“Killjoys,” Sam gives a serious shake of his head, chuckling as FRIDAY announces dinner is ready to be served. “Let’s get you to dinner. We’re having it in the mess hall once everyone gets here - tonight we can still have it in the actual dining room.” He offers his arm, guiding you out of the living area. “You met Bucky, right?” You give a nod, very aware the aforementioned is right behind the two of you. “His article will be the shortest. Dude’s damn near a mute unless he’s lecturing Steve, so I wish you good luck on interviewing him.”

“And here I thought that your odd friendship was all made up…” You answer slyly, hearing a snort of laughter behind you - unsure if it belongs to Steve or Bucky.

“Hey Cap, you meet the reporter?” Sam flashes you a smile as he turns the two of you around, bringing you to a hard stop so you don’t ram into the super-soldier.

“Steve Rogers, miss.” He offers his hand and gives yours a firm shake, his blue eyes holding a wariness you weren’t expecting. Captain America, wary of you? Doesn’t inspire a lot of hope in you about this whole experience…

“Y/N Y/L/N, sir.”

“Sit! Sit!” Tony orders jovially from down the table before pointing to the man at his right. “Rhodey. War Machine. Liar extraordinaire. I may need to sit in to make sure he gets all the facts straight.”

“Don’t listen to Mr. Stank over here, ma’am.”

“Unfortunately, that’s why I’m here Mr. Rhodes.” Steve pulls out your chair for you, waiting until your seated to take his seat to your left. “Thank you.”

“I think we should all get to know each other,” Tony starts, only for Rhodey to roll his eyes and Bruce to scoff from the other end of the long table.

“May I record?” You ask, watching everyone sort of tense and shuffle.

“Of course!” Tony answers as you withdraw the recorder, clicking it on and sitting it beside your plate.

“I think it’s only fair since I’ll be bothering all of you for the next two or so weeks, that you can ask me whatever you’d like as well.”

“That’s fair,” Dr. Strange concedes from his spot to your right.

“Very fair, I think,” Scott agrees, giving you a big comforting smile.

“Okay, well let’s start with where you were born.” A handful of waiters come in, setting bowls and plates onto the tabletop before disappearing.

“Family style,” Pepper clarifies before looking expectantly to you.

“I was born in California. But moved to Seattle when I was little, maybe about 3. Right before I started kindergarten we moved back to California. Been there ever since.”

“And your business?” Pepper asks, dishing some green beans onto her plate.

“It’s more Amelina’s than mine. We’re partners in the site, but I do the money part, well I prep it for the accountant - and most of the writing - and she does the schmoozing, bossing around, the sports articles and the keeping up of the site. So she’s doing the lion’s share.”

“I would think you break even,” Hope pipes up. “Well, what with you having to travel and compile the information and then write it out. Plus anything to do with money is usually more stressful. Do you both hire and fire?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We tried to hire a sports writer after we’d had the site for a year, but it didn’t work out...”

“Wait. Wait. Was it that guy that kept inserting himself into the story?” Sam laughs out, peeking around Bucky who is beside Steve. You bite back a groan.

“Yes.”

“Bucky, Rhodey - it’s that article I sent you saying that Babe Ruth was only half the baseball player he could have been and that the writer could’ve been the next Bambino.” Rhodey is at least trying not to laugh, but you can see Bucky’s shoulders shaking as you lean backward in your chair.

“That was a huge mistake. All of his work we reviewed before hiring was impeccable. I checked to make sure it wasn’t plagiarized and we called all of his references. Apparently, he’d had some experience in coding and websites, so after he handed in his first final draft, he went in an hour after Amelina posted it, and changed it. We got so many emails - we were getting all these calls... Brian up and disappeared after he did that. To this date, still haven’t had as much traffic on the site as that day.”

“Brian sounds like a douche,” Wanda mutters with a smile, taking a sip from her wine glass. You look down at your plate, finding it overflowing with more food than you’d put on there. You raise an eyebrow at Steve, who just shrugs and puts a forkful of potato salad in his mouth with a smile.

“Yeah. I blacklisted him.”

“Blacklisted how?” Clint manages around a mouthful of bread.

“Oh, um, well I emailed almost every single media outlet in California, Washington, Oregon, and Nevada. Then I asked them to forward it to their parent stations or owners. So basically, after a year of emailing people, most blogs, newspapers, tv stations, circulars, and YouTube hosts in California to Kentucky know not to deal with anyone going by his name. I helped a reporter from Pennsylvania with her story, and she began emailing people on the East Coast about it. All emails included his picture too, just in case he went by another name.”

“Effective. A bit ruthless.” Vision is seated between Wanda and Rhodey, nodding in approval.

“No! Not ruthless!” You defend, voice rising a little before the heat rises in your neck and cheeks. “Sorry. I just didn’t want anyone to get dinged as we did. We had to say a lot of apologies and lost a lot of work because of his pointless self-involved rant. And I mean, who goes after Babe Ruth?”

“Balls but no brains,” Scott adds, the two of you nodding. He points his fork at your plate. “Eat.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“That’s what you’re here for.” Tony chuckles out.

“What do you guys do in times like these? When there aren’t aliens or Loki or HYDRA? Like a big spa day for all of you guys? Karaoke?”

“To be honest,” Natasha begins. “There aren’t a lot of days like this when we are all free at the same time. But honestly, it’s more watching and waiting than action and aliens.”

“Kind of miss SHIELD to kind of take care of the day to day bad guy cartel and mafia stuff?” You manage around a mouthful of pasta. Sweet Jesus, it was decadent and cheesy.

“Sometimes I miss the help,” Clint admits.

“What Clint means is that he misses telling people what to do.” Sam teases, tossing a bread roll at him across the table, which Clint catches without even looking away from you.

“Hey! I didn’t tell people what to do. They just did it.”

“Did you buy a bar just to tear it down, Tony?” Tony smiles around a forkful of steak.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Ross just rubs me the wrong way.”

“To be fair, I think he rubs everyone the wrong way.”

“You’ve met him?” Steve sounds surprised, eyebrows raised in what you hope is astonishment.

“Unfortunately. I was in college and had to write a piece on something or someone whom you don’t agree with. Now I am all for soldiers but upper management sucks in the military, no offense Mr. Rhodes. But, everywhere, really... I just think the old guys in Congress and equally old guys in the upper ranks are calling the shots on things they shouldn’t be interfering in, as far as college me was concerned. Ross irritated me for the simple reason that he was the smartest person in the room and no matter what I said, what facts I had, what questions I asked, I would always be wrong. Never disliked being called ‘sweetheart’ so much in my life. Hard to have a conversation with the other side when they talk to you like that. Plus, I got a D on that paper, so he sucks in my book.”

“I told him to call me if he needed help. Then I left him on hold. In my own defense, I did warn him earlier I did like to watch the light blink.” Rhodey snorts into his glass at Tony’s admission.

“Like a tiny Christmas light of joy.” Steve comments, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

You shove a forkful of green beans into your mouth, giving a little sigh at how damn good it tasted before spearing a few more and eating those as Scott launches into the tale of him, Cassie, Luis and his ex-wife’s husband all hanging Christmas lights - only for the new husband to find he’d rewired and programmed them to blink in super slow motion with the fastest Christmas songs he could find and vice versa. And every 9 hours and 45 minutes, it played La Cucaracha, perfectly in time with the lights. There are a few chuckles around the table, but you’re laughing pretty damn hard.

“That’s brilliant actually! The deviousness lies in the amount of annoying that they could take. Having to time your exit must have been a bitch.”

“He and one of his buddies took it all down, bought new lights and hung those up. Cassie told me she missed hearing the Chipmunks, so I remotely programmed a timer so it would play the Christmas Don’t Be Late song right before her bedtime.”

“Cassie sounds like a wonderful girl. And very lucky to have you for her father.” Scott looks flustered but gives you the brightest smile before looking down at his empty plate.

“Th-thank you.”

“Of course. Do you guys do Netflix around here? Movie night?”

“Your mind is everywhere…” Hope says with a grin. “That’s good.”

“And to answer your question - yes. We have Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime…” Sam trails off as the waiters reappear, clearing the table only to return seconds later with plates of beautiful personal assorted desserts. If this was how they ate, you’d hate to see their exercise regime. Oh god, you hoped you weren’t expected to work out with them...

“I was just wondering how you all decide on a show. Do Steve and Bucky have lists? Like are you all working through AFI’s 100 Greatest Movies? I think I’ve only seen 20 of them. Do you all binge shows together?”

“Pep started a rotation. So if it’s your Sunday night and you’re in the compound or tower, then you pick the movie or show. If you aren’t here, it goes to the next person on the list.”

“Sometimes after a mission, it’s usually just decided to watch tv shows just cause we all sort of zone out,” Steve whispers after Tony’s answer, taking a big scoop of his parfait.

“We’ve never been invited,” Wong pipes up, frowning at Tony.

“Oh, I invited both you and Strange right after Pepper made the schedule. If Strange didn’t relay that…” Dr. Strange just rolls his eyes.

“I mentioned it.”

“You didn’t say it was a regular occurrence.” Wong huffs out before biting into a ladyfinger.

“Like an old married couple,” Clint chuckles out, his desserts all gone as he leans contentedly back in his chair. You give your head a small shake at their exchange before reaching to stop your recorder.

“Well, thank you so much for that delicious meal. And thank you for letting me record. I hope I get less awkward as this goes on.”

“This was awkward?” Wanda raises an eyebrow, making you fiddle with the recorder before tucking it into your pocket.

“Okay, well, um then it will get more awkward before it gets less awkward.” You all rise, pushing in your chairs before wandering out of the dining room and back towards the living areas.

“You’ll find out we’re all awkward. Well, except me.” You nod seriously at Tony’s words, managing to see Bucky roll his eyes at Tony’s words. Huh. Who knew… “Nightcap?”

“Oh, no. Thank you. I’m so full I don’t think I could even manage that.”

“Then we’ll say goodnight.” A chorus of goodnights echoes around the large living room.

“Goodnight everyone.”

You totter off to your room, cursing the fact that you’re so sleepy right now. After washing your face, brushing your teeth and changing into your pajamas, you shuffle down under the covers.

“Well, that wasn’t the most awkward or silent dinner I’ve ever been to…” You mutter before sleep drags you under.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

In the morning, you wake up earlier than you usually tend to, sitting on the floor in your pajamas in front of the rain-splattered window with your headphones on - going over the recordings, transcribing them and making notes in your dotted notebook, since it better served to add afterthoughts to. Not the nice orderly layout of your new notebook. And you’re so involved in listening and typing, snatching up the notebook beside you to jot down memos, that you don’t hear Steve and Tony calling your name and you sure as hell don’t hear them enter.

The scream accounts for that, Bucky and Sam barrelling through your door as you look up at Steve and Tony with wide eyes, shoving your headphones off.

“We’re sorry.” Tony barely restrains a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I had FRIDAY see if you were awake, then came to get you for breakfast, but,” He laughs now, the skin by his eyes crinkling. “You didn’t answer.”

“Maybe we should think about a different system!” You blurt as you stare up at the four men.

“Yes. Definitely,” Tony chuckles. “Next time I’ll have FRIDAY blink the lights to alert you.”

“Thank you!”

“Our pleasure.” Steve grins out, extending a hand.

“No, I’m fine here, thanks.” Steve shrugs, the smile not disappearing.

“Well, we’ll leave you to get dressed for breakfast. The shops are due to arrive after breakfast for you to pick some more clothes for your stay. Sam has also requested to be your first interview.” Sam winks at you from Cap’s left, sporting a wide smile as Bucky’s gaze goes from Sam to you.

“Thanks again.” You peer around Steve. “And thank you two for coming so quickly.”

“Anytime, Y/N.” Sam delivers smoothly, Bucky rolling his eyes before making a swift exit. The other three leave with smiles on their faces.

It takes you several minutes to realize you were in your pajamas; a worn and oversized ‘It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ shirt paired with sleep shorts that could barely be seen peeking under the hem of your shirt.

“Jeez…” You groan, rubbing a hand over your face before closing the laptop and tossing your notebooks on the bed.

Ten minutes later you have your teeth brushed and you’re dressed in adequate attire, shuffling nervously into the kitchen area on the other side of the bar in the living room. Clint and Bucky are cooking, Wanda weaving between the two expertly. You slip in the seat next to Hope, her hair in a ponytail and dressed in workout clothes.

“How long has everyone been up?” You whisper-ask, setting your recorder and notebook beside the empty plate that Natasha sets in front of you with a small smile. You return it as Hope cuts her pancake which is riddled with syrup, fruit and whipped cream.

“We all did a workout before breakfast,” She puts a big bite of sugar-laden pancake in her mouth, “Speeds up your metabolism.”

“Where’s Scott?”

“Here.” He mutters, slipping into the seat on the other side of Hope.

“Not a morning person?”

“I enjoy my sleep.”

“Thank god. Me too. Under normal circumstances.”

“Yes,” A new voice pipes up from the other side of the room, making you lean back to see who it is. “We heard about the intrusion this morning.”

“Holy - Princess Shuri!” After nearly tripping trying to slither out of your stool, you manage to get upright and extend a hand. “So lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you. It is lovely to meet you as well. I read your articles after Tony mentioned you were selected to do the interviews, and I must say that when you do scientific articles, there is a very nice flow and imagery that one does not usually get.”

“Thank you! I’m sure whoever I’ve interviewed in the science community doesn’t care for all the questions I have after the interview, so I’m glad that it reads well to a genius.”

“You will just make her head bigger, Miss Y/L/N.”

“King T’Challa, wonderful to meet you.” You breathe a deep breath of relief as he extends his hand, giving it a firm shake with a warm smile.

“Wonderful to meet you as well. Please sit, you must keep your strength up if you are to deal with all of us.” There is mischief in his eyes, the twinkle of a man temporarily unburdened.

“That bad?”

“Wait ‘til the Guardians are here!” A male voice pipes up, followed by a tossing sound and a huffed “Sorry!”

“Peter Parker, ma’am.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you automatically stick out your hand.

“Spider-Man,” Tony supplies as he walks by with a bowl of oatmeal. Honestly, your only thought is that he’s a baby and should be protected at all cost.

“Yeah, I think I saw a post on Instagram about someone in New York making Spider-Man ice creams...So you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?” Peter blushes, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t worry, kid. Pep had her sign contracts before she even came. She can’t reveal your identity.”

“Oh. Okay then.” His smile brightens at least a hundred watts. “Did you eat yet? Mr. Barnes makes the best pancakes!”

“Does he now?” Bucky’s back is to you, so you can’t see his expression, but there are already two hot pancakes setting on your plate next to several pieces of bacon. “I’m going to gain so much weight while I’m here…” You sigh, actually not the least bit bothered by it once you bite into the pancake, it’s buttery soft fluff filling your mouth, the second bite revealing a tiny melted chocolate chip to add to the deliciousness. Flipping open your notebook, you scribble down a note: Bucky Barnes = wonderful pancakes. Peter sees it and ducks his head as he takes his plate over to where Shuri is sitting, the two of them bent over a tablet when you glance over your shoulder.

Everything is terribly domestic. Normal.

And you want them to enjoy it. Cause honestly, after all that’s happened, they truly deserve a little peace and camaraderie.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

”Okay, so is this alright?” You ask, settling a little more into the plush blood-red chair in Sam’s bedroom, his desk to your right littered with your notebook, your phone, the recorder, and several pens.

“Great. I’m good to go.” You pick up the recorder, clicking it on with a nervous smile directed at Sam before you began.

“Interview One: Sam Wilson, known as Falcon. Okay, Sam, please tell me a little about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Let’s just start with the basics - like speed dating.”

“I’ve never been speed dating.”

“Well, aren’t we the lucky one?”

“Wait - you’ve been speed dating?”

“Unfortunately. It was for an article but nothing really was romantic or fun about asking the same questions of men who aren’t looking you in the eye.”

“Don’t gotta worry about that here. Our mamas all raised us right.”

“Noted. Alright, so I’ll ask the nice fluffy questions first.”

“Working our way up to the heavy hitter ones.”

“Exactly. What’s your favorite thing to do in New York, besides save it? What was your childhood dream job? Favorite Disney movie? How do you like your coffee?”

“Eat. Man, I love food. They have a little gumbo place in Harlem,” He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Best Southern food up here. As for my childhood dream job - man, I love birds. I wanted to train raptors, rehabilitate them...or I wanted to be a chef ‘cause I enjoy food. All kinds. Man, I haven’t seen a Disney movie in ye -- well, that’s not true because Spider-Nerd made us watch Toy Story 4 the other day...but probably a tie between Fantasia and The Rescuers. And coffee? That I take black with room so I can add cream and three sugars.”

“Good memory skills. Want more difficult ones now?”

“Oh yeah, I’m ready,” He rubs his hands together with a smile spreading quickly across his face.

“If Stark does a superhero calendar, which month do you want and what are you wearing for it?” His laughter is loud and boisterous, his hands braced on his knees before looking at you.

“Whew - went right for it, didn’t you? Are you asking everyone this question? Can I be there when you ask Cap and Bucky? I bet you twenty bucks that Tony says he’s thought of it before and he wants December cause of the gift he is.” You lean over and make a note of it in your notebook.

“I’ll take that bet. I counter with he doesn’t want to do one but he’d like to be July.” He extends his hand and you shake it firmly, mustering up a serious expression as you did so before settling in to wait for his answer.

“Man, okay. Uh, I think I’d like to be August. Not as hot but not cold either, with those pre-fall feelings. And I’m getting the tightest red shirt I own, along with my favorite pair of jeans. But I could be persuaded to dress sexier - nice fitted suit and tie.”

“Why’d you join the Air Force?”

“I just wanted to help people. And I wanted to see the world. My mom was okay with it since she figured the Air Force weren’t the first to deploy and that I’d be mostly out of harm’s way. But I enjoyed the regimen, the camaraderie I had with the other guys. But when my wingman, my partner Riley, died -- you, you know I just didn’t want to be apart of that anymore after that. I decided I’d get more out of life if I helped other soldiers deal with their problems.” He pauses, searching your face for something before continuing. “I met Steve one day when we were both out running. I knew who he was, but I also knew he was just like any other soldier who had come home and was looking to adjust - looking to find his place.”

“So you did what came naturally - you offered a sympathetic ear and some words for him to think on.”

“Yep. And, honestly, I enjoyed getting to know Steve Rogers. I think we have a lot in common, just morals and being a good soldier, but it’s more important to be a better man than all of that.”

“You really admire him.”

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t trade what I had to go through - what we all had to go through - to have it done any other way. I mean, it was brutal in some places, but I’d do it all again -- I sure as hell don’t want to, but I would.”

“May I ask why you chose to follow Steve instead of, say, Col. Rhodes? Both military, both having friends who sort of go rogue, both just wanting to do the right thing…”

“Rhodey and I are good friends, don’t get me wrong. But he had a lot on his plate: The military. Ross. Tony. Still dealing with the fallout of SHIELD in the upper ranks. I would follow Rhodey for a lot of things, but I won’t fight against any of the other Avengers again unless they’re mind-controlled or some shit.”

“Peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese?” You ask softly, giving him a kind smile.

“Peanut butter and jelly.” He says with his own soft smile.

“Can I pet Redwing?” He perks up at that question.

“Yeah, come on, I’ll show him to you.”

“Maybe the suit too?” You tease, gathering up your notebook and phone, shoving the latter into your pocket before the extra pens you’d brought got shoved right along in there. You carefully pick up the recorder, holding it aloft as Sam holds open his bedroom door.

Once you’ve petted Redwing, letting Sam fly it around you. Luckily you were smart enough to stop at your room first for your camera, most of the time focusing on the light in Sam’s eyes as he looks at his little buddy before Steve and Clint come into the hanger, Clint playfully throwing a few rocks as Redwing dodges them, the three of them joking as they stand in a semi-circle and watch. All the while you watch them through the lens, happily snapping pictures before you notice Bucky leaning against the hangar door a handful of feet away. He looks like he’s a model, a small smile on his face that’s half turned away from you with one hand - his metal hand - tucked into the pocket of his black, worn-looking jacket. You snap a few pictures before he turns his head towards you, the smile disappearing. You snap a picture anyway before lowering the lens and smiling as warmly at him as you can. He gives a little nod before pushing off the door and disappearing around the corner.

Clint drags you to the archery range after that, carefully digging through his arrows as he answers question after question.

“Okay, Clint, last one: If Stark does a superhero calendar, which month do you want and what are you wearing for it?” Clint snickers, his shoulders gently moving.

“Really? Well, alright then. I think I’d like to be January. And I think I want to be dressed in a velvet eggplant jacket with a black shirt and some black underwear.” You nearly snort when he wiggles his eyebrows and gives you a lazy smile, twirling an arrow.

“Boxers? Briefs? Thong?”

“I think some nice fitting briefs. Don’t want to make too many people jealous if I bust out my thong…”

“I certainly learned a whole lot about you, so thank you for that, Clint.”

“Anytime, sweet cheeks. Anytime.” He leads you back to the living room for your last interview of the morning before you all break for lunch. “Wanda! I got your girl here!” Wanda is standing by the hallway, a cup in each hand with a smile gracing her too-pretty face. She gestures with her head, her red hair swinging slightly. Clint doesn’t let you go initially, pushing his cheek closer to you.

“Alright, alright, Mr. Sweet cheeks.” You concede, kissing his cheek before watching him saunter past the others, tossing himself down onto the couch beside Scott with a chuckle.

“Good luck!” Sam hollers, making Wanda glare at him for a second before you follow her down the hall.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Wanda is teaching you a few words in Romanian when you emerge from her room for lunch.

Lunch is already laid out as you repeat “Nu, mulţumesc” until she nods.

“And that means?”

“No, Thank you.” You answer obediently.

“Now, combine everything.”

“Ce fasi! Mici sărutări pentru tine în această după-amiază. Nu, mulțumesc. Aș prefera să fac un tort.” [Little kisses to you all this afternoon. No, thank you. I'd rather have a cake.]

Bucky and Natasha shake their heads with a smile.

“And that means?”

“What are you doing? Little kisses to you all this afternoon. No, thank you. I’d rather have a cake.” Wanda chuckles out, giving your arm a loving pat.

“It was something my mother always said to my father. He said little kisses to us all and she said she would rather have cake. Y/N said it beautifully. Very naturally.”

“I am a wonderful parrot.” You smile out before Tony pokes his head in and whistles.

“Lunch!”

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Bruce’s interview after lunch is filled with long pauses, his answers thought out and sometimes not what you expected. He takes you through his lab and then he suggests a short jaunt around the garden to finish the interview. When he excuses himself, you stay in the French-style garden, snapping a few scenic pictures and unwinding a bit from the interviews of today.

With four down, you’re feeling pretty perky about the whole series, trying not to think about the 25 or 26 more interviews you needed to do. Wandering through, your fingertips brushing over the perfectly trimmed hedges before spotting a few wild sunflowers towards the path leading into the woods. Carefully kneeling you take a picture, frowning as it’s just not quite right. You settle on your belly, one foot rising into the air as you refocus the camera and nail the picture you wanted!

You don’t even realize that Bucky is taking your picture as you grin at your camera, entirely too pleased with your results before you regain your footing and trek back to the compound.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You shoot for six interviews the next day, just trying to get them done before the Guardians, Thor and Captain Danvers arrive...Tony having casually mentioned recording a video group interview of sorts before you left. Which didn’t stress you out at all.

Not.

Hope’s interview was witty and broadening...how she described quantum physics (which just led to more questions) was outstanding.

Scott’s was quick-witted, dry and peppered with his pretty broad knowledge of electrical engineering, Captain America, and songs from the 80s. He was very open about his conviction and time in prison, his decision to be ankle monitored to be with his daughter, and how he feels all of this may affect her in the future. He’s an achingly good person and you add him to your “Protect At All Costs” mental list you’ve started.

Steve is stiff. He doesn’t see the humor in your calendar question (you have to show him the Australian firefighter one with the baby animals for reference) to which he begrudgingly requests the month of May and says a casual suit with flowers in lieu of a pocket square. You suggest him sitting slightly towards a camera, painting a field full of flowers...he seems to like the idea and it makes him relax a little - and you’ll have to thank Sam for that tidbit of information he’d given you. You ask Steve a lot about his life before Captain America, how he thinks it would have gone differently if Dr. Erskine had lived, and what he initially liked about the modern world. He tells you about art school and Bucky, getting beat up on a near regular basis in alleys all over Brooklyn, how he discovered Mr. Rogers’ TV show early one afternoon after moving into the compound.

Vision, on the other hand, doesn’t have a lot of life experience to draw upon but he’s a wealth of knowledge. He talks about JARVIS and ULTRON, the differences between the two of them and Tony, he talks about how DUM-E knows who he is and how loyal he is to Tony. He then shows you who DUM-E is, the bot jerkily “shaking” your hand as you marvel over how not just Tony has evolved but his creations as well. Do you coo how smart and handy the robot it? Of course. But it’s worth it to see the robot nodding as you talk about how smart his dad is. DUM-E then gives you a tiny circuit board before you leave, Vision remarking that he likes you very much to have done so. You scribble down a note to ask Tony if that’s okay that you have that.

Peter is your last interview before dinner, and holy cow, everyone in the compound is a fucking genius. Peter tells you about his web fluid, the neighborhood where he’s grown up, and it’s clear how much he admires Tony from how reverently he speaks. Their relationship, you notice, is a little more parent/child than a mentor/mentee relationship. It’s adorable with a tinge of awkward. Peter shows you pictures he’s taken swinging all over New York and you show him where he can get a Spider-Man ice cream. He asks you just as many questions as you do and you chuckle when he refers to nearly every movie before his date of birth as “a really old movie”. You show him a few Charlie Chaplin shorts to show him what exactly “really old” is. He, in turn, shows you Tik Tok videos that you both laugh over.

“Do you like serial killer stuff?” He asks as you both head to the dining room for dinner, tucking his phone back into his pocket, both sets of your sneakers squeaking ever so slightly on the expensive floors.

“I think most women do.”

“Why do you think that?” His little focused face is adorable, trying to link it up in his head.

“Women always think they can do things better. And they’re usually right, just to let you know.” He nods seriously. “We’re outraged by it but intrigued. Pretty sure women can get blood out of just about anything - I’ve gotten red nail polish out of khaki pants by sheer will alone. It’s different for everyone, I guess. But mostly I think it helps us to collectively learn how to plausibly commit the perfect murder while we drink wine from the couch and shove snacks in our faces. And possibly solve a crime in our heads.”

“Huh,” Peter’s brow is still furrowed but he’s nodding his understanding. Peter looks up to find Bucky studying you, and when you look at Peter, he’s just smiling. “Excuse me.” You nod, watching him high-five Shuri before you feel someone by your side. Dr. Strange gestures to your ever-moving seat, which tonight is between Okoye and Wanda.

“Thank you,” you murmur gratefully, not noticing the quick clench of Bucky’s hand as he moves around Strange to his own seat opposite Natasha.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Rhodey steals you after dinner, Sam teasing him as they disappear to his office.

“Come on, man. Just talk to her.”

“Shut up, bird brain.”

“She’s pretty nice. I was concerned she was just gonna go after us, with the questioning, but she eased into it and just didn’t focus on the darker stuff. She seems to want to get to know us as people.”

“It’s weird, huh?” Clint comments as Hope nods.

“It’s nice to be treated like a person. Not someone who’s infallible or holier than thou…” T’Challa remarks from his spot in the plush crimson chair across from them.

“Very inclusive, as well,” Okoye adds as Shuri and Peter come skidding into the room, Peter holding a tablet.

“What are you two doing?” Steve asks as he arches one blonde eyebrow high at the two.

“Nothing,” Shuri says smoothly, Peter nodding a few times too many when Tony comes into the room.

“Why is there a herd of deer in my hanger?” Both teens shoot off towards the patio door, laughing the whole time. “I don’t know what they did, but Redwing is acting like a herding dog with them, so you might need to go check that out, Sam.”

“Damn kids, I swear...I’m gonna need to squash me a spider…” He mutters loudly, heading briskly for the hanger.

“So, you gonna talk to our little journalist?” Tony smirks down at Bucky, which makes him scowl at the billionaire.

“I’m supposed to do that tomorrow,” He grumbles, making Tony smirk harder.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Tin Man.” Bucky wisely says nothing as he tries to calm his ramping up heart rate. “Even the kids have noticed you looking.”

“He has some competition,” Vision adds, smiling at Wanda who tilts her head slightly but returns his smile. “DUM-E.” Tony snorts, shaking his head as he turns away to gather himself.

“The robot? So the two are evenly matched then.” Natasha chuckles out, taking a healthy sip of her gin and tonic as she meets Bucky’s eyes.

“Nat, that’s not fair. The robot shook her hand and gave her a circuit board. He’s leagues ahead of Buck.” Clint teases, taking Natasha’s drink and taking his own healthy sip before handing it back. Bucky looks at his best friend, who is trying desperately to stop his shoulders from shaking with his laughter.

“40’s you would be ashamed. A robot who can’t talk?”

“Bucky Barnes vs a Roomba!” Shuri comments from behind Tony before making a break for it down the hallway with Sam hot on her tail. T’Challa, Okoye, and Bucky all point Sam down the hallway where she disappeared to when he comes panting into the living room.

“Now me is more inclined to hit your once-asthmatic ass for being the little shit you are,” Bucky growls at Steve, getting up from the couch turning to head to his room, only to freeze when he sees you and Rhodey standing by Peter in the door frame to the patio.

“Do you know there are deer in the hanger? And are you guys running a weird robot/human fight club?”

“Is that all you heard?” Tony asks, turning around and slinging his arm over the back of the couch with a smile flirting on his lips.

“We picked up the pace getting in here when we heard Shuri shout Bucky Barnes vs a Roomba. I mean, I’ve seen a raccoon with a machine gun, so that would have just been something else to add to the Weird Shit I’ve Seen list.” You press your lips together hard to keep from laughing at Rhodey’s nonchalant attitude and suddenly, Bucky isn’t as pissy as before. Well, he is - but at his friends - not at you.

Shit.

It’s been three days. Three fucking days and he’s smitten.

“Goodnight,” He says gruffly before retreating down the hall.

He’s nearly in his room, so he doesn’t hear you ask if you’ve done something wrong.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Tagging: @jewelofwinter @sgtjbuccky @jaamesbbarnes @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr

NOTE: Found the pic online and edited it, props to Google and all rights/privileges/ownership goes to who took the photo and to Marvel who made up all these characters.

[PART 2]

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years ago

Text

The Light in My Darkness - 6

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Warnings: nope

A/N: Hello lovies! Important things happen here though it may not seem like it. We’re laying the groundwork. Enjoy!

***

It wasn’t long before you once again found yourself standing in front of Wade Wilson’s desk waiting for him to acknowledge your presence. When he continued to type without glancing at you, you cleared your throat. You waited another moment before saying, “Excuse me.”

He held up one finger in a sign you should wait, finished his typing, then looked up at you with a smile and his hands laced together. “How may I help you today?”

“I have some things I need to give to Clint. Could you let him know I’m here?”

He tilted his head to the side and his smile slipped into an ‘I’m sorry’ expression. “Mr. Barton is terribly busy today. If you would like to leave whatever it is with me, I’ll see to it he gets it.”

Yeah, that so wasn’t happening. “I’d rather give them to him myself. If you would just let him know I’m here, I’ll wait until he has a second. It won’t take long.”

“Suit yourself.”

It didn’t take you long to realize that unless he’d sent an email, Wade had done nothing to inform Clint you were there. You gave a shake of your head as you pulled out your phone and sent a text.

Moments later, the door to Clint’s office swung open to reveal him frowning at his phone. A smile replaced the frown as he glanced up to meet your eye. He motioned you in before turning his scowl on Wade. You grabbed his tie as you passed by and pulled him along with you as you passed.

You closed the door before turning your attention to straightening Clint’s tie. Your eyes ran over the length of him and you licked your lips. Currently he was dressed in a black three-piece suit minus the jacket which was discarded over a nearby chair. His sleeves were rolled up to show the tattoos on each forearm. Realizing you were lingering, you cleared your throat and stepped back after one last pat.

Clint’s head was cocked to the side and he wore a half-smirk as he looked you over. “You okay, sweetheart?”

A quick nod was your response.

His eyes narrowed and he pulled you back to him. “You sure about that?”

You glanced down before looking back up to meet his gaze. “Remember when you asked me what my favorite look on you was? You found it.”

His smirk morphed into a grin. “I’ll have to remember that.” He kissed your forehead before stepping away to move back around his desk as a notification chimed on his computer. “Now, what brings you here? I hope there wasn’t a problem with the move.”

“No. They were great. I just wanted to bring this in.” You handed over the contract first. “Signed and delivered.”

He flipped through it to ensure it was signed in the appropriate places before unlocking his top desk drawer and putting the papers inside. Once he locked everything back up, he put the key in the pocket of his vest. “Thank you for that. I’ll get you a copy of the signed document.”

You shook your head. “It’s not necessary. I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t the man you are, Clint. I trust you.” You shrugged. “Besides, if you fuck up, I’ll sic Wanda on you.”

His smile softened. “Guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior then.”

“Clint Barton behave? I wasn’t aware that was even possible.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. What else do you have there?” he gestured at the paper still in your hands.

You bit your bottom lip and handed over the bill for your tuition. “I signed up for classes. Since I’m so late, the bill has to be paid by Friday to hold my spot.”

“Not a problem. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of today.” He picked up his suit jacket and slid the bill into one of the inside pockets before putting it on. “What’s on the agenda for you today?”

“Well, even with all my furniture moved in, my apartment looks pretty empty. I evidently need to go shopping.” Your cheeks heated at the admission. Part of it was embarrassment at how little you actually owned, the rest was talking about spending Clint’s money. It just wasn’t something you were comfortable doing.

He hummed and nodded his head before placing a hand on your back and turning you toward the door. “Sounds fun. Let’s go.”

You planted your feet and looked at him with wide eyes. “You want to go shopping? With me?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to go with anyone else. Besides, there are some things I want to make sure you pick up.” His hand fell away and he turned to face you. “Unless of course, you don’t want me to go with you.”

You shook your head and grabbed his hand in yours to pull him toward the door. “Oh no, Barton. You aren’t getting out of it that easily.”

He laughed and followed after you. He couldn’t blame you for being surprised that he’d even offered. He’d taken Wanda and you shopping for Junior prom dresses and sworn it would never happen again. You wondered if he remembered, but you weren’t about to remind him if he didn’t.

He pulled you to a stop in front of Wade’s desk. “I’m out for the day, Wilson.”

The assistant’s gaze shifted between the two of you. Finally, he nodded and the corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Of course, sir. I’ve got it covered.”

Clint pursed his lips. “I know you do. That’s the reason I haven’t fired you yet.”

“Thank you, sir.”

If sarcasm could be conveyed through a smile, you were pretty sure Wade Wilson had it down to an art.

***

The store that Clint took you to was completely overwhelming. They had absolutely everything you needed to outfit your apartment from spatulas to sofas. You hadn’t been there long, maybe only half an hour or so. Clint had stripped down to only his dress shirt and trousers in the car so he looked significantly more casual than he had before. He was being uncharacteristically quiet as he trailed behind you but you could feel his eyes on you.

You had started in kitchenware but kept picking up things and putting them back so you’d moved on to furniture. The sofa in your living room was way past needing to be replaced and it wasn’t nearly large enough for the new space anyway. When you reached that department, your gaze immediately fell on a deep blue sofa with a chaise lounge on one end. You ran your hand over it reveling in the softness of the fabric beneath your fingers.

It was displayed with a pair of chairs covered in large blossoms in shades of blue and purple. You instantly fell in love with all of it. Until you saw the price tag. It was all entirely too expensive.

“Can I help you folks with anything?” a friendly voice said nearby and you turned to find that a salesman had stepped up beside Clint.

Clint shook the man’s hand. “My girlfriend and I are furnishing our new apartment. Unfortunately, we need pretty much everything. Think you can help us with that?”

A little thrill went through you when he called you his girlfriend but you shoved it back down. What else was he supposed to introduce you as?

The man’s brows lifted though you could tell he tried to keep his smile contained. “That’s my job, sir.”

Clint’s lips twisted as he glanced to you, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Fantastic. We’ll start with this sofa and two of these chairs.”

“No,” you exclaimed without even thinking about it. Both men looked at you in surprise. “I just mean it’s…I want something different is all.”

“Could you give us a moment?” Clint’s eyes stayed locked with yours though it was the salesman he was talking to.

Once the other man had left, Clint closed the distance between you. When you tried to break eye contact, he grabbed your chin and turned your face back toward his. “What’s this?”

“I just want something different is all,” you protested.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. “Don’t feed me that, Y/N. I know you well enough to be able to tell when you like something or not. We’ve been here for forty-five minutes and you haven’t spent a dime. So, I’ll ask again and I expect the truth this time. What is this?”

“I don’t like spending money just for the sake of spending it, Clint. Yes, this couch is gorgeous, but I’m certain there is one a tenth of the price that will do just as well.” You gestured at the myriad choices around you while you spoke.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest and held you there for a long moment. He pressed kisses along the top of your head while he did. Your arms wove around his waist and you just enjoyed being held. “God, you’re a refreshing change,” he said disrupting the quiet.

His hands found your upper arms as he put some space between you so he could look in your eyes again. “Let me do this. Let me take care of you. You need furniture. Hell, we need furniture. You can either pick out the stuff you really love or I will purchase the most expensive alternative just because I can. Okay?”

You still weren’t entirely comfortable with the thought of spending his money, but you knew he’s make good on his threat. You nodded once. “Okay.”

“Good.” He signaled for the salesman to come back over. “Sorry. She got a little sticker shock is all, so no discussion of prices.”

From the looks of him the salesman was moments away from cackling in glee. “Not a problem, sir. So, the couch and two of the chairs?”

“Yes—”

“No,” you interrupted and Clint looked at you in complete exasperation.

“Y/N, we just talked about this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and you resisted the urge to giggle.

“One chair, please. And an ottoman. Do you have something in purple?”

***

Once you had selected every possible thing you could need for your apartment, and several things you didn’t, the two of you headed for the car. Clint’s fingers were laced with yours. You weren’t certain if it was because he just wanted to hold your hand or if he was afraid you’d pass out if he let go. You had spent more today than you ever had in your life and it wasn’t even your money.

You were stunned, but you didn’t want him thinking you weren’t appreciative though you’d already thanked him several times. “Are you hungry?”

He smiled. “I could eat. Have something in mind?”

“Yes, but you have to let me buy your dinner. As a thank you.”

His eyes revealed nothing as they ran over your face, but his smile turned into a grin. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

After the two of you had gotten into the back of the car, you leaned forward. “Hey, Scott. Take us to the Red Eye, would you?”

“Sure thing, Y/N,” the driver answered with a grin.

#clint barton x reader #clint barton x you #hawkeye x you #hawkeye x reader #Jeremy renner x reader #avengers #sugar daddy au #series #the light in my darkness

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