#projecting onto Tony today because I feel like shit and I needed to get it out somehow

[carmenized-onions]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

 “Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

Next Part

[superherotiger]

Tony doesn’t think about his father much anymore. Actively tries to avoid it if he can.

But when he does, he thinks about agonising silence and booming shouts. Of the ice in a whiskey glass and the hot sting of a backhand against his face. Of nameless women cycling through their mansion in the dead of night, and tear tracks down his mother’s cheeks as she releases a storm of anguish and betrayal in her screams. Of cold eyes shifting anywhere but to meet his own. Sharp glares and even sharper words.

Love you Dad, he says on the night of his seventh birthday, only to be met with a grunt.

Did I do something wrong, he asks when they drop him off at boarding school at some ungodly hour in the morning. Howard doesn’t even look back as the car disappears past the fence line.

Did you ever even love me, Tony asks one Christmas as he visits from MIT, reeking of alcohol and swaying in unsettled rage. His father only frowns and tells him how useless he is. How he would be nothing without the legacy that Howard had built for him.

Tony doesn’t think about his father much, and when he does, he wants nothing more than to forget.

But when Peter walks through the doors of his lab with those bright, warm eyes and wide, endearing grin, Tony thinks about something new.

He thinks about how much he loves this kid, and his smile, and his laugh. He thinks about how the constant throb in his left hand ebbs away whenever the boy is near, and how natural it feels to hold him in his arms. He thinks about lab days and patrols and movie nights over cheap Chinese takeout. Of comfortable banter and gentle assurances. Of familiar brown eyes that stare up at him with trust, and care, and something akin to love.

I’m sorry if I’m being a burden, Peter says once when he gets stuck with his new formula, and Tony rushes to assure him that he could never be a burden. That he wants to help him, and he always will.

Are you mad at me, the boy asks after he is almost killed by an arms dealer he was told not to pursue. Tony just pulls him into a fierce embrace and begs him never to do it again.

I love you Mr Stark, Peter says as he presents the man with a birthday gift -a cheap porcelain mug with Ironman and Spider-Man on it- and Tony drags Peter into his chest and buries the impending tears his kid’s mop of curls. He mutters assurances of worth and importance and love into Peter’s ear, and Tony damn near breaks down when the boy returns the encouragements.

Tony thinks about Peter -about his kid- a lot, and when he does, he hopes he never forgets.

It’s too late for Tony to have a good father, but he realises it’s not too late to become one himself. It took many decades but he finally knows now that he’s not worthless, or weak, or a disgrace to the family name. He knows he can be better than what came before.

He knows thanks to Peter, he could be so much more.

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[carelessannie]

the five times steve gives bad dating advice, and the one time it actually works

Or, the Starker Shifter and College AU no one asked for

Link to AO3 Main pairings: Tony x Peter, (background) Steve x Bucky Word count: 5.6k Major Warnings: smut (not shifted), everyone’s a complete idiot, discussion of canine and feline mating behavior, excessive cursing Aaaaannnnnddddd I’ll tag @the-mad-starker because I said I would and I really hope you enjoy it bb

---

The door slams, startling Steve out of his afternoon nap. Peter must be home. He’s pretty sure Sam said he was gonna be out until the evening, and the stomping, slamming of cabinets, and various clanging dishware are usual signs of Peter’s afternoon fury.

Steve shakes out his coat, rolling his eyes as he stretches in the sun— his roommate is a damn idiot.

He doesn’t even bother shifting as Peter storms in the room, throwing his backpack to the ground and perching on the nearby armchair. He’s learned by now that when Peter wants to talk, Steve doesn’t need to speak. In fact, his friend probably prefers it that way.

So instead, he lets Peter brew, slamming his fingers onto the keys on his laptop, and viciously eating apple slices and… nutella. Oh. One of those days.

They only bring the nutella out on bad days.

Steve throws him a bone— metaphorically— and opens an eye, making an inquisitive noise deep in his throat.

Peter looks up, his delicate features squished together in an angry pout.

“First of all, your boyfriend’s an idiot.”

Offended, Steve bares his teeth and squints his eyes, sending Peter a menacing snarl that the smaller man waves off. His boyfriend is an idiot, but Peter has no business noticing that.

“I’m right and you know it,” Peter sniffs, turning his nose and inspecting his nails, “and his roommate is the absolute worst. And I’m not talking about Clint.”

There it is. Steve chuffs, feigning indifference. If he waits long enough, Peter will tell him more. So he lounges back, keeping one eye open, and letting the sun warm his fur. As he watches, he sees the moment Peter gives up his act. He jumps off the chair, making his way into Steve’s sunbeam, and slowly curls up next to the larger wolf.

“I’ve never met another cat so absolutely infuriating, Steve,” Peter whispers, petting through Steve’s golden fur, distractedly, “I can’t stand it. Always purring at me and calling me fucking kitten— no sir! I’m not a kitten, and it doesn’t matter how… how…”

He trails off, gripping tight onto Steve’s coat. When Steve turns to look, he realizes Peter’s tiny fangs have lengthened, poking through his rosy lips, as he runs his tongue over them absentmindedly. If he looks close enough, he can even see where Peter’s small, shifted ears are pushing through his curls.

Peter mumbles something that even Steve’s enhanced hearing can’t pick up. He nuzzles under Peter’s arm, urging him to repeat it.

“It doesn’t matter...” Peter murmurs, “... how beautiful he is, right?”

Steve’s ears perk up.

“Don’t act so surprised. Bucky told me you guys talk about it all the time. I just… I didn’t see it, okay? Not until today. Not until Tony fucking brought me coffee. I had no idea he was so sweet, Steve. I guess I always thought he was a dumb male cat shifter, like the stereotypes paint us out to be. But… he’s not. He’s so kind and funny and sexy, and oh my god, I bet his shifted cat is absolutely gorgeous.”

Steve rolls over to let Peter pet his tummy as he continues, “So naturally, I cornered Bucky to get him to spill. To tell me more about Tony, and how to date him, and… and… how you guys got together. But he said to come talk to you—” Peter crawls closer and tries to look him in the eye, “pleeeeeease, Steve? Help me?”

With a sigh, Steve sits up, shaking out his fur and letting his wolf recede, until he’s stretching out long arms and wiggling his fingers. His gym shorts are nearby, so he slips back into them, doing a customary once over to check for a full shift. Then he settles against the couch, opening his arms in an invitation for Peter to curl up on him.

Peter scoots closer, marginally, and Steve chuckles, “Want some dating advice, Pete?”

“Mhm, yes please,” Peter hums, closing the distance and leaning into Steve’s leg.

“Okay, I’ll tell you some things that worked for me, when I was courting Bucky.”

One.

Later that evening, Tony and Steve are set up in the dining room, comparing notes for their Econ class, and steadily working through their midterm project. Bucky and Peter should be back in a moment with pizza, and hopefully the four of them, plus Sam, will spend the night watching movies. It’s Friday, after all.

Steve hears the front door open and close, quiet conversation drifting down the hallway, but is surprised when just Bucky walks into the kitchen, setting down pizza and making his way over to where the two of them are seated.

Bucky leans down, planting a sweet kiss on his lips, before claiming a seat.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Tony beats him to it, not even looking up, “Where’d Pete get off to? You didn’t lose him, did you?”

Bucky just huffs, “No, you moron. He had to grab something from his room.”

Tony just shrugs, turning back to his notes. Steve spares Bucky a glance, curious about what Peter could be up to, and Bucky gives him a wink. Great.

It’s quiet as the three of them shift pages, typing gently on their laptops, and only exchanging conversation when there’s an issue with the material. Steve gets up once to grab a glass of water, and tries to look down the hallway— no sign of his roommate whatsoever.

With the smell of pizza filling the apartment, they decide not to wait any longer to eat. Steve hollers down the hall for Peter to come get some dinner, but still, his roommate is nowhere to be seen.

As he sits back down at the table, Steve can hear light footsteps coming towards them. He turns his attention back to their homework, and watches as Tony and Bucky pass out glasses, uncorking a bottle of wine.

“How fuckin’ fancy are we?” Steve wonders, giving Bucky a smirk as Tony starts to pour.

“Okay, there’s nothing wrong with a nice bottle of—” “YEEEEOOOOOWWWWWLLLL—”

Tony drops the bottle, flipping backwards out of his seat at the ungodly screech. Steve hops over into Bucky’s lap, picking his feet off the floor as his boyfriend flounders around, cursing and gasping for air.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“ReeeRRROOOOWWWWLLL—”

The noise continues, splitting through the air, and Steve watches Tony shift down, fangs lengthening, ears and whiskers emerging, as he drops to four legs. From where they sit on the dining room chair, neither of them can see what happens as the noise suddenly stops, a long, hissing growl taking its place.

Steve peeks under the table, and sees both cat shifters arched up, fur fluffed out in a clear challenge, teeth bared and hissing. Dammit. Peter’s cat— a yellow tabby— is slowly backing up as Tony’s cat— dark and tortoiseshell— follows him, spitting and growling, until Peter finally turns his back, relaxing his coat, and slowly retreats.

“Holy shit,” Bucky breaths, starting to laugh, “what the fuck was that.”

Steve just shakes his head in disbelief, watching Peter sprint down the hall to his room as Tony licks his paws, tail still fluffed in irritation, and eyes pinning them with a deadly glare.

The table is a mess— wine spilled across their notes, Tony’s laptop, and pizza overturned, smeared across the soaked pages. Once Tony starts shifting back, Steve slides off of Bucky’s lap and takes stock of the damage. What the fuck indeed.

He looks over at Bucky, “Can you… take care of this,” he gestures to the table, “I’m gonna go talk to Peter.”

Bucky nods, still shocked, and Steve turns to follow Peter back to his room. He stops outside, knocking gently— careful not to intrude into the shifter’s territory.

“Peter, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a rumble, and then the lock clicks, letting the door swing open. Peter struts back towards his window seat, fully shifted back and wearing just a pair of black briefs, and curls up by the window.

“Uh, Pete? What happened?”

Peter sniffles, looking out the window, “You told me that you and Bucky like to show affection by making noises at each other in your wolf form. So why didn’t it work?”

“Oh my god.”

“He attacked me, Steve!” Peter whines, burying his face in his hands.

It takes everything in Steve’s power not to laugh. Poor kitten. He slowly approaches, sitting nearby and in Peter’s view, extending a hand for Peter to take if he wants.

“So… maybe that wasn’t the best advice. I swear, it’s one of the easiest ways we bond, as wolves. But not that screeching noise, Peter— more of a growl, or other small noises.”

Peter pouts, looking into his hands.

“Here,” Steve stands up, holding out his hand, “let’s go get some pizza and help clean up. You can apologize, come up with some dumb excuse, and we can find some other way to hit on Tony, okay?”

“Fine.” Peter joins him, pulling on a sweatshirt and some shorts, “Let’s hope I didn’t spill all the damn wine. We’re gonna need it.”

Two.

A few days later, all of their friends are lounging across Steve’s furniture, taking a lazy afternoon after midterms to drink some Coor’s and watch Japanese game shows. Steve’s not even sure who’s interested in this, but doesn’t really care, as he lets himself drift off to the sound of Bucky’s deep breathing, his mate settled close on his chest.

It’s rare that everyone is in the same place, especially without homework or projects taking up their time, and Steve feels a deep sense of peace as his pack is settled, warm and safe, around him.

“Stop it, Stevie, you’re givin’ me thoughts,” Bucky mumbles, pinching him in the side.

Steve just hums, smiling down at his mate, and looks over to where Peter’s laying across the floor, partially shifted, and tail flicking slightly. On the other side of the room, Tony watches with his arms crosses, eyes following the striped tail.

“Let's go for a walk.” Steve announces, lifting Bucky off and getting a grumpy noise in protest. He makes a show of stretching, and gives Peter a wink. His eyes go wide in understanding.

“Fine,” Peter pushes off the carpet, shaking himself to shift back fully, “but only if I can get ice cream.”

Bucky ends up agreeing, and muscles Tony into joining them as well. Sam and Natasha decide to stay, enjoying the silence, but demand delivery from their friends. Clint stands up as they’re leaving, and follows them out the door.

It’s a quick walk down to get ice cream, just a block away, and Steve tries to make a show of brushing up against Bucky, reminding Peter of their last conversation.

Peter saddles up next to Tony, walking side-by-side only a few steps in front of them. He glances up, batting his eyelashes, and bumps his hips into Tony’s.

Tony whips around, on instinct, and pushes Peter in the chest, sending him careening off the sidewalk and landing in a heap, right in the middle of the road. All of them freeze, looking between Tony and Peter in disbelief, as the younger boy’s eyes brim with tears.

“Oh my… Peter, oh my god,” Tony shakes himself, and sprints into the road, thankfully clear of traffic, and pulls Peter to his feet, leading him back to the sidewalk. “I don’t… I don’t even know what happened, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Peter pulls away, giving Steve a dirty look, “can we just go get ice cream, please?”

Tony nods, sticking close to Peter as they walk away, and Steve can hear him promise, “I’ll buy yours, really, I’m so sorry.”

When they’re out of earshot, Clint ambling along after them with a shrug, Bucky turns to him and smirks, “What was that, Stevie?”

“I… I told him about the rubbing thing we do. You know… when we walk together?”

Bucky laughs all the way to the ice cream parlor.

Three.

It’s a week or so later when they have Tony and Bucky over for another movie night. Peter was mortified, and furious, about his latest attempt, but Steve can tell he’s determined to make a move tonight.

And Steve thinks this one will work, too. He’s not sure, at this point, if he should still be giving Peter advice, but he’s seen cat shifter mates do this, so he’s pretty sure it’s gonna work.

Bucky just smacks him in the head, annoyed that Steve wants to meddle.

The four of them are watching the Hobbit trilogy, per Tony’s request, and have piled blankets and pillows on the floor to lounge on. Steve takes the leads and shifts down, kicking off his clothes, shaking out his fur, and stretching out in his wolf form on the floor. He feels Bucky join him, the familiar warmth of his mate comforting against his side. They both look expectantly at their friends, hoping they take the hint.

Peter squints at them, irritated, but shifts down anyway, pushing out of his clothes and settling against Steve’s side, purring when the giant wolf starts to groom him, licking long strokes down his back.

Steve can see the adoration on Tony’s face. He’s completely captivated by the sweet kitten, and he shifts, stretching out and pacing closer to the three of them. Steve can’t help but wag his tail, bumping up against Bucky and wiggling closer to get a lick on Tony’s face.

Tony yelps, bouncing away, and pretends to clean himself. Peter just watches on, intently, as Tony takes his time to walk back over, carefully avoiding the wolves. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Tony curls up nearby, and Peter takes his chance, slinking closer, and reaching out to lick Tony’s cheek.

Tony shifts, moving out of Peter’s reach. Peter crawls closer and tries again, but Tony pulls away. One more try, and Tony stands, jumping up onto the couch and out of reach.

Peter just mewls, soft and sad, before tucking himself back underneath Steve’s front leg. Bucky growls, low in his chest, and Steve can tell it’s aimed at Tony. Dumb cat.

They stay shifted for the better part of an hour, grooming and cuddling together, until Tony finally comes back down from his perch. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see him approach, slowly, and try to get near Peter. Bucky growls again, not even opening his eyes, and the tortoiseshell cat scrambles away.

So much for that.

Four.

Spring break— fucking finally.

Classes have been hard this semester, and all of them are feeling it. Steve’s thankful that Tony’s parents have a place in the woods for them to escape to, because he’s itching to shift, let loose, and run away with his mate. Hopefully for the whole week.

Somehow, Steve got stuck driving their car, packing Bucky in the passenger seat, Sam and Peter in the middle two, and Clint, Nat and Tony in the backseat. He’s not sure how they make it there alive, with Bucky’s Cool Vibes playlist, Sam and Tony’s backseat commentary, and the thick mix of pheromones swirling through the air.

“What is that, Buck?” he murmurs in a low tone, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand over the center console.

“Hm?” Bucky looks over, blinking lazily.

“The… tension. The smell. What is it?”

“Oh, uh—” Bucky takes a moment, scenting the air and grimacing, “— yeah, that’s rut.”

Steve almost slams on the breaks.

“Rut? Like cat rut?”

Bucky just nods, making a point to roll down his window, “Yeah, Stevie. It’s springtime. We’ve got two, male cat shifters in the car. The rest of us ain’t gonna feel nothin’, but they’re definitely feelin’ it.”

He turns around and glances behind him, smiling at the sight of both cat shifters arguing and flirting behind them. Sam looks horrified.

Steve just rolls his eyes, “I’m tired of their bullshit. Hope they spend some time together this week, ya know?”

“Hope they spend more than time,” Bucky laughs, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze in return.

In the rearview, Steve can see Tony, fully turned around in his seat, gesturing wildly as Peter shakes his head, the two of them clearly caught in a deep discussion. When he looks closer, he sees the way Peter flutters his lashes, how Tony rubs up against the seat and the wall of the van.

Idiots.

Steve focuses back on the road, sighing and trying to enjoy how warm Bucky is next to him, how settled he is with his mate nearby.

Less than an hour later, and with every window rolled down, Steve parks the van outside of the cabin. If anyone would call it that. Three stories tall, the cabin looms over the driveway. Dark, aged wood is contrasted with sleek and modern architecture, blending back into the treeline and standing out of it at the same time. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.

As they carry their bags into the cabin, Steve catches sight of the lake in the backyard. Apparently Bucky and Clint see it as well, because all three of them are dropping their stuff, stripping out of their clothes, and racing to the water.

Steve shifts mid-stride, barking in joy as his pack follows him into the lake. Around the cabin, down the hill, off the dock— he’s first. First! And Bucky follows after him, their splashes large and in sync.

Clint ambles, albeit slower in his shifted golden retriever, and flops gracelessly in after them. The water is heavenly, and the three of them swim and play, bounding through the water and jumping off the pier.

That is, until their friends join them.

It seems as though Tony let the others into the house, put away their bags, packed a cooler, and found a few beach chairs and towels. The four of them set up a row of chairs and open an umbrella above them, settling down in skimpy swimwear to enjoy the afternoon sun.

Clint barks up at them, no doubt encouraging Nat and Sam to shift down and join them in the water.

“You guys are idiots,” Sam yells back, popping the tab on his drink, “the beer’s up here!”

Steve treads water, huffing a bit in amusement as he watches his pack— which is how he catches Tony moving closer to Peter. Tony passes him a beer, which Peter takes with a smirk and quick comment that makes Tony laugh.

Gag.

And he almost misses it— he goes to turn away, and sees Tony dart across, pressing a swift kiss to Peter’s blushing cheek. Peter gasps, meeting Tony’s eyes in shock, before grabbing his shoulders, leaning closer, and—

“Ow!”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Tony—”

“You bit me!”

Steve swims over to the ladder, shifting down as he goes, and grabs a towel as he climbs up to investigate. Both men are standing now, blushing and holding their faces— Peter in shame, and Tony in mock horror. So dramatic.

“— how could you think that was what I wanted?”

“I didn’t! I just… I asked Steve, and he said—”

“Woah woah woah,” Steve cuts in, hands up in surrender, “I never said to bite him.”

Peter covers his face again with a groan, flopping down in his seat and throwing a towel over his face.

Tony looks down at him, bewildered, and back up at Steve, shrugging. “What did I do?” he mouths, lips turning down into a sad, sad pout.

Steve doesn’t even know what to say.

“Let’s go start the grill,” Sam suggests— thank god for Sam, and grabs Steve and Tony’s shoulders to lead them away.

A few minutes later, working over the grill together, Tony peers up at Steve, giving him a pointed look. Steve just sighs, again.

“Canines do this thing— instead of kisses on the cheek, when we’re shifted, we like to nibble on each other’s faces. It’s the same thing,” he pauses, taking in the disbelief written across Tony’s expression, “... for canines.”

“So he was… trying to kiss me back?”

Sam huffs, clapping Tony on the shoulder, “More than that, Tones.”

Tony sits down, hard, in light of this revelation.

Five.

Bucky corners him, later in the evening, and it’s not for a sexy reason.

“You’ve gotta stop meddling in their shit, Stevie,” he hisses, pinning Steve to the wall.

Steve looks down to where their bodies are pressed together and groans, “Buck, this is a serious conversation, but you gotta let me up, pal.” Bucky’s eyes go wide and he grimaces, letting Steve up.

The two of them take a deep breath before Steve continues, “I’ve got a plan.”

“No.”

“It’s a good one.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We should force them to sleep together.”

“...”

“I mean. Not like… Buck, not like that. I mean, like, den together, like how we did when we were bonding for the first time.”

Bucky crosses his arms, giving Steve a less than impressed look.

“So you think that would work? How would you even pull that off?”

“I told you, I have a plan.”

---

Steve and Bucky corner Tony, later, and tell him their plan. Steve explains how he’s spent almost a month trying to help Peter court Tony, and Tony, for the most part, looks absolutely baffled.

“Yeah, I didn’t get that.”

Bucky covers his laugh with a hand, turning away so Steve can’t see him. Idiot.

They try to convince Tony to go along with their plan— sneaking into Peter’s room, fully shifted, and curling up next to him.

“It’s not gonna work, Steve. Felines are territorial—”

“— so are canines—”

“— and he’s not gonna want me in his space uninvited!”

“— but it’s not his space! It’s yours, it’s literally your territory,” Steve insists, “and it’ll show him that you want more, Tony.”

Tony just sighs, looking off into the fireplace, roaring with life. Warm and inviting. Steve aches to get out of here, but he’s committed to getting his friends together first.

“Fine,” Tony concedes, rising to his feet and starting to shift. He points at Steve as he shrinks down, “but I’m blaming you when thisss goesss to shhit.”

Fully shifted, Tony stalks across the living room, disappearing up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. Steve pulls Bucky close, both of them nuzzling close and enjoying their shared scent, shared warmth. They hear a door shut. Silence. Bucky turns to dot a light kiss on Steve’s jaw, and Steve returns it with a teasing growl.

“When this is over,” he rumbles, “we’re shifting for days, baby.”

Bucky sighs and wiggles closer, “Can’t wait, Stevie. Been itchin’ for it. Needin’—”

BANG, CRASH!

MrrrOWWWWWWWW

“Not again,” Bucky groans, hiding his face in Steve’s chest.

Tony, still fully shifted, tears through the living room, tail fluffed out and fur raised along his back. He darts under their couch, breathing hard and hiding, as Peter stomps down the stairs. He’s half shifted— fangs and ears and paws and tail all displaying aggression and annoyance.

“I really like you Tony,” he hisses, crossing his arms and standing so that Tony can see him from under the couch, “but that was a real dick move. Sometimes I feel like you hate me, and want me to hate you. Don’t try to talk to me, Tony. I don’t wanna see you until the morning.”

Peter stalks away, leaving Tony under the couch. Bucky tugs on Steve’s sleeve, “We really shouldn’t be here when Tony shifts back.”

Steve spares a glance under the couch, watching Tony clean his paws and glare back at them, and nods. The two of them beat a quick retreat, heading for the kitchen to pack some snacks for their time in the forest. Tony said the deer in this area are free to hunt, but sometimes they like fruits and pastries for breakfast. It’s a whole thing.

Before they run off into the woods, Steve stops, looking back to where Tony, still shifted, is sulking under the furniture.

“You should do it.”

Both Tony and Bucky look at him in shock, the latter already protesting.

“No, no— you don’t have to take my advice, Tony. I know I’ve screwed a bunch up already. I’m just saying, you should talk to him tonight, show him that you care. Follow your instincts— because they’re obviously different than ours. We know…” he glances over at Bucky, who nods, “we know you love him, Tony. Go fight for him.”

Tony just turns around, showing his back.

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, “Let’s go, Stevie.”

One.

Tony watches them retreat out the backdoor, letting it close with a soft click! He slinks out from under the couch and sits by the fire, thinking about what Steve said.

Follow your instincts.

He thinks about the kiss earlier. How pretty Peter’s blush had been, how much he wanted to rub up against Peter’s cheek and mark him, claim him. He wishes they got to run together, fight and wrestle away their pent up energy. He knows both of them are rutting, he just thought… he really thought…

It doesn’t matter now. He closes his eyes, lets his ears twitch in thought, as he focuses on his instincts. He lets the rage and the desire and the animal need wash over him, and all he can think, all he can feel, is chase.

Chase. Catch.

Chase. Catch.

He doesn’t even register getting up, prowling up the stairs, moving down the hallway.

Chase. Catch.

Chase. Catch.

The door to Peter’s room is open.

Chase. Catch.

He creeps inside, taking a peek over to the bed.

Mate.

Peter turns his head, making eye contact.

Run.

Tony leaps into the air, sprinting out the door— Peter hot on his tail. He flies down the stairs and slides around the corner, slamming into the trash can. Dammit. Why is that always there? As he growls at the metal can, Peter catches up to him, tackling him to the ground with a loud shriek.

They wrestle, growling and biting, until Peter breaks free with a hiss, bouncing on the pads of his feet to assert dominance. Oh no. Not in Tony’s house. Tony spits, rising up on his toes, until Peter freezes— both of them growling, low and angry.

Peter takes off. Spinning on his feet, the yellow tabby slams, hard, into the wall— fuck, he’s so strong— and bounces off lightning fast, out the door and into the front yard. Tony runs after him, dodging bushes and trees to follow Peter’s agile trail, secretly admiring his speed and the cleverness of his path. Beautiful.

He follows Peter all the way up a tree, forcing him out on a limb. Tony arches his back, sending a signal of dominance across to Peter, but Peter refuses to back down. He meets Tony’s gaze, raises his haunches, and spits back. Holy shit.

Tony leaps, tackling Peter off the branch, and sends both of them tumbling into the grass. In a flurry of nails and teeth and yowling, they fight for dominance, pinning and repinning until they come to a stop, teeth mutually clenched in the other’s scruff, and completely tangled together.

They’re breathing hard. Tony can feel it on his neck, and realizes both of their penises have unsheathed, rubbing together and catching on the barbs. It’s a crazy sensation— ramping up both of their rut pheromones.

As they lay there together— intertwined in the dark of the spring night— Tony feels himself start to shift back. He closes his eyes, gripping tight to Peter’s neck, his bare skin, as he flexes his fingers. He feels Peter shifting in his arms, and they hold on tight, neither willing to give up their prize.

“Mine,” Tony growls, unlatching his jaw as he feels Peter do the same.

His friend, his new mate, smiles— his gorgeous, bruised lips pulling back to reveal delicate and deadly fangs, “Mine,” he agrees, leaning forward hesitantly.

Tony closes the gap, rubbing their cheeks together and earning a satisfied purr from deep in Peter’s chest. He rolls them until he’s on top, and takes a few moments to kiss and lick around Peter’s chest, his tummy, his neck.

He grins mischievously before biting down on a pale pink nipple, earning him a gutted moan in response. Peter’s definitely hard against Tony’s thigh, but he’s been waiting way too long for this to rush it. Damn if he isn’t gonna take his time tonight.

“Mine,” he growls again, fiercer, and drags his nails up Peter’s hips, down his back. He drowns in the small gasps and moans he’s able to coax from his mate, marveling in the way his pale skin glows in the moonlight.

Peter paws at his back, spreads his legs wide, and grinds up against Tony’s erection, desperate for his touch. Every Mine is echoed between them, sung like a mating call for all to hear in the thick, springtime haze. They dance together, flipping time and time again for dominance— although, this time gentle. Caring and full of playful adoration.

When Tony finally takes them in hand, Peter throws his head back, yowling into the open air— “Tony! Tony, fuck fuck, touch me, goddammit, please touch me,” and Tony bends to his wishes, stroking their cocks together, long and firm.

He loves how Peter feels next to him, a tiny bit smaller, but the perfect size to compliment Tony’s own length. Tony spits down into his hand, slicking the way, and thrusts forward, urging Peter to follow his lead as they fuck into his grip.

“C’mon Pete, c’mon love— fuck me, baby, please.”

“Yeah, oh Tony, please. Need more, Tony,” Peter begs turning his wickedly innocent doe eyes on Tony in desperation.

Tony grips tighter, thrusts harder, and returns Peter’s molten gaze. What can he… oh.

He throws himself forward, bracing with one hand above Peter’s head, and seals their lips together. Peter gasps, stuttering his hips, and Tony can feel the warmth spilling over his palm, coating both of their cocks. He strokes Peter through it, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, until his mate starts to whine in discomfort.

Tony pulls away, feeling his orgasm pooling deep in his belly, and crawls up closer on Peter’s chest. His eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen and hair matted and messy— and Tony’s never seen anything more gorgeous.

“Please,” he pants, speeding up the stroke on his cock, “Pete, please let me, let me come on you, please. Mine. Mine, Peter. Let me mark you, please.”

“Yes, yes—“ Peter moans, reaching up to cup Tony’s balls, “mine, give it to me, Tony— it’s mine.”

At his words, Tony lets out a breath, crumpling forward as his release drains him, throwing him over the edge and right into Peter’s waiting arms. He watches as hot stripes of cum paint Peter’s chest, drip down his chin, and even land in his mouth. It’s too much to see his mate, covered in him, licking it off his fingers— so he falls to the ground, exhausted and spent.

A moment later he’s grabbing for Peter, humming in pleasure as his mate saddles close, burying his face in Tony’s neck.

And then Peter giggles. A soft, barely there laugh that tickles the side of Tony’s throat.

“What?” Tony rasps, looking down at Peter in amusement.

Peter keeps laughing, sitting up fully to bury his face in his hands and get out full, gasping belly laughs. He holds onto Tony as he wipes away tears, and Tony just chuckles, happy to see his mate so joyful.

When Peter settles down, he sighs, giving Tony a lopsided smile, “I can’t believe what just happened,” Tony shakes his head, returning the smile, as Peter continues, “I’ve been taking dating advice from a fucking wolf for a month— when all we had to do was,” he gestures wildly, “whatever this was,”

Tony laughs, he gets it now, “Well, it was kinda inconvenient that every suggestion they had was actually a severe act of aggression between male felines.”

“Oh my god,” Peter giggles again, “what the hell were you even trying to do tonight? When I found you in my bed?”

Tony blushes, looking away, and mumbles, “Steve and Bucky thought if we slept next to each other—“

“— but that’s a breach of territory for unmated felines!”

“— that’s what I said! Somehow they convinced me otherwise, and… well…”

Tony trails off, letting his words fade to a comfortable silence. Peter snuggles closer, letting Tony wrap and arm around him. It’s chilly outside, but until they go and lay by the fire, both of them are content to find warmth in each other.

“I’m glad you came to find me,” Peter whispers, dotting a kiss onto Tony’s collarbone.

“I’m glad I did, too,” Tony nuzzles into his curls, inhaling the new scent of mate and home that he’s come to associate with Peter, “and you know what? In the end, that idiot’s dating advice ended up bringing me to you.”

“We don’t have to tell him that do we?”

Tony shakes his head, “No. No we don’t.”

Bonus:

Clint and Sam and Nat stare at each other in horror, refusing to acknowledge what they just heard going on inside and outside of the house.

“Do you think the coast is clear?”

“Can’t be certain. It’s way too quiet out there.”

“They’re both in rut, it could be days.”

“Maybe we should go find Steve and Bucky, they’d know what to do.”

“If I know them at all, and I think I do, those two are gonna be knotted up for the next few days. I don’t wanna witness that.”

The three of them are silent, listening for any movement or sign that their newly mated friends are alive.

“I vote we shift down and doggy pile.”

“Yes, okay.”

“Fine.”

“And in the morning, we can talk about feline mating patterns.”

“... and boundaries.”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

False alarm

Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: You ran away from the Avengers years ago, not knowing how to deal with feelings for a certain someone. But when you find out about a threat to humanity, you have to deliver it to the tower. You planned on dying there but your old friends refused to let you go.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 2848

Broken and bruised, you sit down on a couch in the common room. You know Stark’s systems are mere seconds from rebooting and detecting you as an intruder but you couldn’t care less. Right now, you need a place to bleed out in peace, and what better place than your former employer’s couch. And there it goes. You know Friday is too advanced to just turn on lights and sirens but you hear a scuffling and the opening and closing of doors as well as guns getting readied. And still, you couldn’t care less. Because, if it really comes down to it, there are two scenarios that could happen. Best case: They realize it’s you, listen to what you have to say, and patch you up. Worst case: They shoot you on accident or on purpose and put you out of your misery. Either is fine with you. Though with the pain you are experiencing, you’d rather die than have to go through recovery. ‘Y/n?‘ You pull your head up with the last bits of strength you still possess and look at a few familiar faces. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. ‘Hi,‘ you say weakly, ‘I’m sorry to intrude but I just wanted to bleed out peacefully.‘ Tony rushes towards you and sits down beside you. ‘Why’d have to you pick the couch?‘ His words were supposed to come out as joking and sarcastic but there’s hurt in them. And it could be delusion from losing a lot of blood, but you would’ve sworn you saw a tear fall onto his cheek. ‘The floor was uncomfortable,‘ you explain to him with a grin that looks crooked. You had intended to sound cocky, like the grin you always wore when you had sass wars with Stark. Instead, your words came out desperate. ‘I have a black rug right there,‘ his voice sounds shaky. Steve and Natasha walk over and the lights turn on. They kneel down next to you. ‘What happened to you, y/n,‘ Steve asks you, worried as always. He had always been a great guy. You’re not quite sure why you decided you didn’t like him anymore. ‘I- shit,‘ you cuss at the pain as you try to move yourself to sit up a bit more. Both Steve and Tony jump towards you to support you, but you brush their hands away. The only reason they’re not rushing you to a doctor right now is because they know how stubborn you can be. You take a deep breath. ‘I found something,’ you tell them and point at the bag you dropped a few steps into the common room, ‘it’s in my bag. They came after me.’ Your breathing becomes heavier and suddenly you realize you might actually die today. ‘What’s going on?‘ Bruce comes strolling into the room looking tired more than anything until he notices you on the couch. That man doesn’t ever run, but he damn near sprints towards you. ‘Oh shit. We need to get her medical help.‘ ‘No, you need to get my bag,‘ you tell them sternly, ‘it’s more important than my life.‘ Natasha is the only one who does as you say, although she does it with tears in her eyes. ‘Everything is on the USB,‘ you tell her. She nods and runs off to the lab. It is only then that you take a relaxed breath. ‘Ok, now you can help me.‘ None of the men waste any time getting you to the med bay. While they get things ready, you tell them a self-evaluation as well as your blood type to get them ready faster. It is only then that they realize where most of the bleeding is coming from. ‘Jesus Christ woman,‘ Tony looks at you in awe, ‘you lost half an arm and you still managed to come here?‘ ‘Just patch me up,‘ you snap at him. He nods. ‘On it.‘ He takes off the rag that you clumsily wrapped around it in an attempt to lessen the bleeding. ‘God, that’s nasty,‘ Tony gags but continues on while Steve works on some smaller cuts and Bruce gets some blood ready. ‘Hey Tony,‘ you try to speak but your voice sounds shaky and weak. You feel your consciousness fade away more and more with every breath you take. ‘Yes, dear?‘ ‘If I make it, will you get me a cool metal arm like Bucky’s?‘ ‘Of course. You want the metal metal or the black metal?‘ ‘Metal metal,‘ you smile, ‘that one was way cooler.‘ And suddenly you’re slipping. It’s like one of those dreams where you feel like you’re falling, only you’re not landing. You keep falling and falling and falling and falling and...

. ‘How is she doing?‘ Tony walks into the med bay with three cups of coffee. One for him, one for Bruce who came to do a checkup, and one for Steve who has been here for the last few days without moving. ‘Stable,‘ Bruce says shortly, ‘but Steve told me her heartbeat increased a few times during the night as well as her brain activity.‘ ‘That’s good, right?‘ ‘Better than we could’ve expected.‘ Tony smiles meekly. ‘I guess I better get working on that arm for her.‘ The door slams open and Natasha rushes in. She looks just as exhausted as Steve and both Bruce and Tony doubt she has had any sleep the past days. ‘It’s a weaponized gas,‘ she tells the three, ‘she found out that Hydra is working on a damn weaponized gas. A biological weapon.‘ She takes over one of the screens in the med bay that wasn’t used and projects her findings. ‘I think we all know how zombies work,‘ she starts her explanation, ‘well, Hydra is planning on making the whole world zombies. Not to bend them to their will, but to make them compliant so they can analyze everyone and make the useless kill themselves. The gas dies down after only a week and will be untraceable after.‘ ‘Let’s get to work.‘ . Bruised, tired, and broken Steve sits down at the side of your bed again. The man hasn’t even taken the time to take off his suit or take a shower. Right when the jet landed, he rushed back to you with Bucky following shortly behind to check on him. He smiles at the sight of you while Bucky leans against the doorpost. He’s worried for his friend, as anyone would be. He had known you for a little bit before you left. No one really knows why you left or how you left without a trace. All they knew is what you left on a note and the note really didn’t say much. Just that it was all too much for you. And yet here you are. You just helped save the world from great misery and you don’t even know it. How did all this happen? Steve lets his head hang. ‘Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me but I need you to know that we did it,’ he tells your unconscious body, ‘we stopped them and no one died except for some Hydra scum. And Stark promised to start working on your arm tomorrow, so you better wake up so his work doesn’t go to waste.’ He looks up at Bucky for a second who seems to have teary eyes as well. Slowly, more Avengers come walking in. Bruce takes a seat at a desk, Tony sits down on top of the desk, Natasha sits down next to Steve, even Sam decided to come to support you even though he doesn’t really know you so he just leans against the doorframe with Bucky, Peter doesn’t know you either but stands behind Bucky and Sam to silently support everyone in the room. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say we missed you,‘ Steve continues, ‘work has been different without you around. And though we all wanted you back, I don’t think any of us would’ve wanted to see you like this. We miss you.‘ ‘Speak for yourself,‘ Tony comments through tears, ‘she bled on my couch.‘ . Your USB had more information on it than just the gas. Peter and Bruce have been trying to decipher it for a week or two when Peter takes another look at you through the glass walls of the lab. ‘Doctor Bruce, I know it’s a bit strange to ask this late, but who is she?‘ Bruce peeks up from his work and walks over to the kid. He looks through the glass and sees her steady heartbeat and active brain. Your brain had been active for some time now and yet you still weren’t waking up. ‘Y/n Y/l/n,‘ he smiles, ‘think Natasha, but more motherly. In fact, there was this running joke that she would be a great mother but she’d always say she already has too many kids to take care of here. She was a great agent, but one day she just up and left. None of us knew where she went or how she disappeared without a trace but she did. We hadn’t seen her in years when she turned up.‘ Peter nods at his explanation but continues to stare. Lost in thoughts, he starts twiddling with his fingers while Bruce turns back to work. Peter sees Steve come into the med bay like he had done many times this week. Most times he’d stay for an hour or so to talk to her about anything and everything. Some others tried to talk to her too but most got too emotional. Not Steve. If they’d let him, he’d sit there the whole damn day. He’d sleep by her side if the bed was big enough. He was there whenever there was a change in her activities. ‘Why is Steve so fond of her?‘ ‘They were friends. She’s known him from the start and she’s always trusted him,‘ Bruce tells the kid, ‘she trusted him when he found out Hydra was infiltrating Shield, she trusted him when he told her Bucky had saved him, and she trusted him when he said they could trust Bucky. She’s been there for him every step of the way. I think there was something more there but I’m not sure.‘ Peter nods and gets back to work. Steve deserves some privacy with her. So he and Bruce continue to decode Hydra files. . ‘Steve Rogers, the alarm has been set off. There is activity in the kitchen. The activity seems harmless.‘ Steve groans at the sound of Friday’s voice. ‘Why are you waking me?‘ ‘Tony has already been alerted. He asked to wake the others as this might have to do with the USB agent Y/n brought in.‘ That’s all it takes to get Steve on his feet. He quickly puts on the first clothes he finds which are joggers and a T-shirt. He sneaks into the hallway, meeting with Natasha who is already wielding a gun. The two stalk slowly towards the kitchen where it seems someone has put on the lights. They go into high alert. Either this is a very cocky Hydra agent or someone who doesn’t have clearance to be here at night. As they go around the corner they find- ‘Oh, hi,‘ you say casually. They look at you with their jaws on the ground. To be fair, it must be a funny scene. You’re not used to eating with one hand and your bowl keeps slipping away from you every time you dig your spoon a little too deep into the ice cream you found. So you’re sitting hunched over, holding back the bowl with your stump and your elbow on your other arm while instantaneously trying to eat the ice cream. It’s a mess. Or it could be the fact that you’re awake. Who knows? You surely don’t. You honestly feel like you’ve just had a very good night’s rest. ‘What are- Why- How-‘ Steve stutters his words, not really sure how to react to you. ‘It’s ice cream,‘ you tell him, ‘I was hungry, and I’m not quite sure how I’m managing this but it’s going.‘ He looks at you like you’ve just told him you’re a flat earther. He doesn’t understand a thing coming out of your mouth while you’re just answering his questions. Natasha finally lowers her gun. ‘What he means to say is: why the hell are you out of bed and how are you acting so casual when you’ve been in a coma for weeks?’ ‘Weeks? I thought I just slept through the day. I had a really nice dream,‘ you smile, ‘Steve and I were sitting on the rooftop and we were just talking about everything that has been going on these past years. Though I’m sure I imagined most of it.‘ A small smile appears on Steve’s face. You heard him in your sleep. He pulls you into a tight hug and doesn’t let go until Bruce and Tony come running into the kitchen. ‘Y/n is go- oh,‘ Tony looks surprised to see you sitting at the table with a bowl of ice cream. Just as confuses as Steve had looked, if not more. ‘We though you- oh well, that’s fine I guess.‘ ‘Say, Tony, am I still getting that arm because this is terrible,‘ you joke as you attempt to eat the ice cream again. ‘I-‘ he stops himself for a second to reevaluate what he was going to say, ‘no, why the hell are you ok? You’ve been in a coma for weeks.‘ ‘I know. Steve told me,‘ you sigh, ‘honestly, thank you for telling me that. I thought I had lost my strength overnight. I had such a hard time walking.‘ ‘You should rest,‘ Natasha states. ‘Why? You just told me I’ve been in a coma for weeks. I’ve had enough rest,‘ you stubbornly try to cross your arms only to realize you only have 1.5 arms. They watch the smile on your face falter for a second before a yawn leaves your lips. ‘Ok, sure, that’s on me. Where do I sleep? Because I’m not taking the couch if that thing still has dried blood on it.‘ ‘It’s your blood,‘ Tony snaps at you. ‘I know, that doesn’t make it less disgusting.‘ Tony rubs his forehead. Ah, that’s where all his headaches went. You took them with you when you left. ‘You can stay with me,’ Steve offers. You smile. ‘I’d like that.’ . ‘There you go. Try to move your fingers.‘ You marvel at the shiny vibranium arm that is now attached to the remainder of your arm. You don’t try to move quite yet, scared that it might not work and you’ll be excited about nothing. It’s already a strange feeling though. You can see your metal limb, but your body is not understanding that it’s a part of your body. You look at Steve, who is sat next to you, for a second, hoping to get some encouragement from him. He grabs your normal hand and squeezes it gently as he smiles at you. ‘You can do it,’ he tells you but it sounds like a promise. Carefully, you focus on moving a finger. Tony watches hopefully when your index finger starts to move a little bit. You try to move your thumb and watch it move. It still doesn’t register in your head that that is your limb, but it is doing it. Then you try to turn your hand and it works too. And then comes the big thing. Actually lifting your arm. You focus on trying to lift it as hard as you can. It comes off the table just a little bit and suddenly it clicks. ‘Holy shit,‘ you cuss excitedly, ‘Steve, are you seeing this?‘ Steve has tears in his eyes as he watches the excitement double in your face. ‘I am.‘ ‘This is insane. Wow,‘ you awe, moving around more and more, ‘Tony, this is amazing. You are the best.‘ ‘Don’t praise me yet. Try picking something up.‘ Steve puts his cup of coffee down in front of you and you move the metal arm to pick it up. The whole thing looks a bit clumsy, like a baby giraffe walking for the first time, but you’re doing it. You’re actually picking up the cup. ‘Stark, you did it,‘ Steve praises with a huge grin on his face. ‘This is so fucking cool,‘ you look amazed at your arm. ‘Language.‘ ‘Yes cap,‘ you turn to Tony, ‘so what’s next?’ ‘I don’t know, you tell me,’ he says. You look at Steve and frown for a second. He nods. ‘I think I’ve left some loose ends here,’ you tell Tony while continuing to look at Steve, ‘I’d like to get a chance to tie them up.’ ‘Sure, but if Morgan can’t be the flower girl, you’re out.’ Your lips pull into a loving smile, your eyes still glued to Steve. He looks hopeful and that’s all you need. ‘Deal.’

[dykeninthdoctor]

“ironhusbands, pre relationship, focusing on them in their first year of college and being like rhodey really realizing how young tony is” and “sweater sharing”

“Have you heard–“

“Did you see–“

“He went to Rob’s party–“

The whispers are carried to him on the wind, full of rumors, sometimes lies, sometimes truths.

Jim doesn’t care. He knows Tony Stark–the heir to the Stark empire, son of the legend, Howard Stark–is on campus, but he doesn’t care.

There’s no reason for him to.

The kid is 16, apparently, a prodigy for his age, which Jim could’ve guessed, and he gives zero shits about his education.

Jim hasn’t heard anything about the kid going to classes; only about parties, and girls, and sometimes, the whispers mention boys, too. They call Stark a charmer, a slut, a flirt, and worse.

Maybe Jim cares a little bit.

Stark is 16, and he already has a reputation, one that scares Jim.

“Oh my God, did you see how much he drank last night?” a girl says, eyes wide in a mockery of surprise.

“He never seems like he’s drunk, though,” her friend says.

Jim frowns.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” the first girl teases, and then they’re both laughing, walking in the other direction.

Jim frowns harder.

-

He goes to a party the next chance he gets.

Stark is there, in the center of it all, holding court like a prince standing on the backs of his adoring subjects. He’s sprawled across a sofa, legs draped across the lap of a girl whose hand is resting on the inside of his thigh, head in the lap of another girl whose lips are staining marks of red across his jaw.

Stark’s eyes are glazed, the smile he wears is taped on, and Jim realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s all a mask. A mask hastily built, a mask with cracks that Stark uses alcohol to fill, so that no one can see the emotions behind it.

Jim doesn’t know how, or why, but he can.

“A toast,” Stark slurs, raising the plastic cup in his hand, “To dear ol’ dad, who sent me to this lovely institution.”

A cheer goes up around the room.

Stark drinks.

Jim’s moving before he realizes, shoving his way past people, fighting to get to Stark, snapping sharply, “C’mon, Tony, let’s go.”

To his surprise, and fear, Stark gets up and takes his hand without second thought. Jim tries not to think about why.

When he takes Stark outside, the kid–because God, he’s just a kid–looks up at him with a raised brow and a smirk made of plaster. “We’re gonna do it outside? You’re into exhibitionist shit, huh?”

And then he’s on his knees in front of Jim, and Jim’s trying not to throw up.

“No–shit, no, please stand up, Stark–“

“What?”

It’s the confusion in his voice that finally does it, and Jim’s retching into the bushes that line the house behind them, coughing up bile.

He hears the clumsy motions of Stark getting to his feet, feels a small but calloused hand on his back, sees Stark’s face–eyes wide, lips parted in a small o, the face of a kid–and then throws up more bile onto the leaves.

“I’m sorry?” Stark offers quietly, and it’s so different from the brassy, loud, slurred voice of the prince Jim saw only minutes ago.

“How old are you?” Jim asks. It’s not what he meant to say, but as Stark’s eyes go a little wider, he knows he needs to know the answer, because it’s not 16.

“I’m almost 15.”

Jim tries not to throw up again.

-

He takes Stark back to his dorm, with its single bed and tiny cork board with pictures of Momma Robbie and Jeanie tacked up, with the single poster of a galaxy taped to his wall and the precarious stack of textbooks on his desk.

Stark drowns in his clothes, the knitted sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, revealing a collarbone littered with hickeys, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing bruises the shape of fingers pressed into tan skin.

“Why?”

The question rings out in the silent room.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being…like this?”

“Because you need this,” Jim says.

Stark just looks at him, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated slow breaths, his eyes blinking slowly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“C’mon, get in bed.”

When Stark doesn’t move, Jim freezes.

“No, Stark–not like that. I’m not gonna do anything with you–to you. We’re not doing anything. You deserve a safe place to sleep. I’m gonna do homework, okay?”

“Okay,” Stark says quietly.

When he falls asleep, curled around the only pillow in Jim’s bed, he looks even younger.

Jim makes himself a promise.

A promise to protect Stark.

-

The next day, when he wakes up with his face pressed to the pages of his physics textbook, and his bed rumpled but empty, he realizes protection is not what Stark wants.

Too bad, Jim thinks. Too fucking bad.

-

It’s harder than he thinks to find Stark; even if the kid doesn’t attend classes, there aren’t parties during the day.

The whispers don’t tell him anything, and today, they’re about him.

“He went home with him, just like that–“

“Have you see him around before?”

“Stark just listened to him–“

Jim ignores them.

He goes to his classes, he takes notes, he tries to focus.

He also thinks about where Stark might be hiding.

-

He doesn’t have to think too hard; Stark’s sitting in his dorm when he gets back after his 5:00 lecture.

The door was locked, but Stark didn’t seem to have any difficulty with that.

“Hi,” Stark says.

“What the fuck,” Jim says back.

Stark shrugs. “You were nice to me. What do you want for it? Money? A reputation boost? We can pretend to fuck, if you don’t want to for real, just so that people think you got some.”

“What do I want for it?” Jim repeats.

“Yeah, payment.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“C’mon, everyone wants something,” Stark says, and the way his eyes avoid Jim’s, despite his casual pose and even more casual tone, tells Jim that he’s scared.

“I don’t want anything, Stark.”

It’s a lie; he wants to know who hurt Stark, he wants to give Stark a hug, he wants to protect Stark.

He also wants Stark to let him out of choice, rather than obligation.

“Okay,” Stark says.

Okay, Jim thinks.

What he says is, “You can stay while I do my homework, if you want.”

“I talk a lot,” Stark tells him. “I’ll bother you.”

“I have a little sister, you can’t be worse than her.”

“Oh.”

So Stark stays.

-

“What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

“Oh, that won’t do at all. What’s the rest of it?”

“James Rupert Rhodes?”

“Rupert?”

“Don’t start with me, Stark–“

“Tony. My name’s Tony.”

“And my name’s Jim.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. You’re Rhodey now.”

-

“What are you doing?”

“Physics.”

“No shit, Sherlock, I meant the equation. You calculated wrong.”

“I did not.”

“Put it in the calculator, it’s not 6.78, it’s 6.57.”

“You did that in your head?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

-

“How old’s your sister?”

“She’s 10, but she’s 7 in that picture.”

“That’s your mom?”

“Yeah, I took that picture of them at the lake near our house.”

“She…she looks nice.”

“She’d like you.”

-

“What’s your major?”

“Aerospace Engineering, so yeah, I’m a rocket scientist.”

“Damn, how’d you know what I was gonna say?”

“You’re predictable, Tones.”

“Tones?”

“Well, if you’re allowed to give me a nickname, shouldn’t the favor be returned?”

“I…yeah.”

-

So Jim becomes Rhodey, and Stark becomes Tony, and sometimes Tones.

-

Rhodey realizes a few months in that Tony doesn’t need protection.

Tony knows how to protect himself, with a sharp quip or an even sharper smile.

What Tony needs is love.

So Rhodey makes a new promise.

-

After Rhodey has to drag Tony out of another party, after slurred words become quiet apologies, after Tony falls asleep in his bed again, Rhodey calls his momma.

She tells him to bring Tony home for Christmas break.

-

In Rhodey’s eyes, Tony’s never looked more alive than when Momma Robbie convinced him to play Scrabble with her and Jeanie.

-

“That boy needs love, James,” Momma Robbie tells him, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“I know, momma.”

“You gonna make sure he gets it?”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

-

When the clock strikes twelve on New Years, Tony tries to kiss him.

They’re on the roof, the stars above them reflecting in Tony’s eyes, and Tony tries to kiss him.

“No, Tones,” Rhodey says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love you.”

“Just not like that?”

Tony’s voice is broken glass, slowly tearing Rhodey’s heart to pieces.

The lie is a knife to the chest.

“Just not like that.”

Tony nods quietly.

They don’t share a bed that night.

-

When they get back from break, after a silent car ride, Tony asks suddenly, “Wanna see my workshop?”

It would’ve been simpler to ask if Rhodey wanted to see his heart.

There’s no other to answer to give than yes.

-

It’s a beautiful mess of chaos, the only description befitting the place where Tony breathes life into wires and gears and lines of numbers.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you, Tones.”

Tony hugs him for an hour, and then spends three more showing him each idea, and then uses another two to get lost in a new project.

Rhodey realizes that this is where Tony truly comes alive.

He’s a kid in a candy store, a bird taking flight, a genius at work.

And he’s beautiful.

The knife, the lie, digs harder into Rhodey’s chest.

-

Tony has bad weeks, and worse weeks, where Rhodey doesn’t see him for days, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because Tony always comes back.

-

Rhodey learns about Howard during a bad week, and about Jarvis on a good one.

He learns about Maria on a good week, and about Ana on a bad one.

Tony brings him pieces, and Rhodey starts to build the puzzle.

Some pieces are missing, and will probably always be missing, but it’s okay.

Rhodey will love him no matter what.

And slowly, Tony is starting to believe that. Rhodey can see it in his eyes, in the way his mask comes off, in the way the cracks become windows for Rhodey to look through.

-

The summer is long. Tony calls him some weeks, emails other weeks, doesn’t talk at all for most of them.

The worst part is not knowing if he’s okay.

But Rhodey takes what he can get, and gives as much as Tony will take.

-

When they get back to school, there are fresh bruises on Tony’s arms. Rhodey gives him a new sweater from Momma Robbie and Tony wears it like its armor.

They get a dorm together, officially, and most nights, Tony ends up in Rhodey’s bed, in Rhodey’s arms.

Watching him wake up is the best part of Rhodey’s day.

It’s hard, to keep lying, but Tony’s still just a kid, and Rhodey won’t be another person to use him.

So he loves him in the ways he can, and it’s enough, because it has to be.

-

The whispers are constant, always talking about them, but this time, Rhodey truly doesn’t care.

He knows better than the lies they spread.

-

“Rhodey–Rhodey, wake up,” Tony whispers against his chest.

Rhodey grunts. “‘m sleeping.”

“It’s raining.”

“So?”

“I wanna go outside.”

It’s the look in his eyes that does it, the wonder. Rhodey’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Okay, Tones.”

They dance in the rain on the roof, and Tony laughs, and Rhodey looks at him, and sees nothing but happiness, and feels nothing but love.

-

Rhodey kisses Tony on his 18th birthday.

Maybe it’s wrong, but the way Tony laughs against his lips and twines his arms around his neck is nothing but right.

“I thought–“

“I lied, genius, I had to,” Rhodey whispers, ready to let go, but Tony just holds him tighter.

“Thank you.”

“For lying?”

“For loving me the way I needed.”

[kidney9-9]

Family (Bucky Barnes)

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo​ asked:

I wanted to request a angsty/fluffy Bucky x reader where reader starts to get baby fever and wanting a baby after either spending time with Tony and Morgan or babysitting her (you can decide:) but Bucky can’t have kids and knows he can’t give her what she wants, so maybe he breaks up with her so she can find that in someone else and then a fluffy ending? 🥰 Thank you so much and I can’t wait to read it!! ❤️

Hi hun, thank you for sending this in! Hope you enjoy! Italics means Bucky is listening/can hear what’s happening. Reader is Tony’s sister :) Tags in the reblog 

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Angst with happy ending) Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 3.6k

--

Sunlight reflected off Tony’s front door, making you smile as he opened the door. You squeezed Bucky’s hand excitedly causing him to grin back to you momentarily.

“Hey brother!” You yelped out, letting go of your boyfriend’s hand and bouncing into a hug with your brother. It’s been a bit too long since you’ve seen him, and you wanted to check in with him, and bring along Bucky.

You and Bucky were getting more serious now, in fact you had a feeling that he was going to propose soon, especially since he urged you to ask Tony if the two of you could visit. Usually Bucky and Tony didn’t want anything to do with each other (but thankfully kept the peace), so it was different, and you had an inkling it would happen soon.

Tony let out a surprised laugh, but eagerly accepted your hug, patting your back as you glanced behind him. Your eyebrows raised and you beamed even more when you saw your niece, Morgan. You missed her so much, you haven’t seen her in a while or talked to her either.

Last time you saw either of them was on her last birthday. “Morgan!” You greeted, pulling yourself out of the hug from your brother to crouch down. You wrapped your arms around her, as she scrunched up her nose back to you happily.

Bucky stood by the front door awkwardly, nodding to Tony as a greeting, which he returned with a quiet scoff. Bucky glanced down to you, grinning slightly to Morgan as she stuck her tongue out to him playfully, giggling as you tickled her side. You let go of her with a sigh, smiling back to Bucky as Tony pulled the door all the way open, “You know maybe if you came here more often you wouldn’t be so emotional.” Tony spoke up, shaking his head with a smile back to you.

“Always the kind one, aren’t you?” You shot back at your brother, watching as he let out a laugh and raised his arms in fake surrender.

“Do you guys have a bathroom around here…or something?” Bucky popped in, smile dropping as Tony rolled his eyes back to him. You didn’t see any of this of course, something that Bucky found crazy, because if you knew him and Tony weren’t exactly friends, you would be upset. Maybe he didn’t want you to find out, because your feelings would be hurt.

Of course, it was hard to let go of your parents being killed by him, he understood that. But the reason he didn’t like Tony was because you were the one that moved past that, and forgave him, not Tony. Instead, Tony still disliked him, but it was better than wanting to kill him again. Bucky pushed the thought out of his head as you giggled at his question, pointing down the hallway.

It was his first time at this house. It seemed that Tony just liked throwing his money everywhere and bought houses on a whim. Bucky frowned, pulling his thoughts away from Tony. All Bucky wanted to do was make you happy, and he knew being here would make you feel happier, with all of them together. He loved you, seeing you happy made him happy.

He washed his hands with the bathroom door slightly open as he sighed, overhearing Tony’s voice again. “You can’t actually be serious with him.” Tony lectured you, causing Bucky to pause as he turned the water lower, to hear your response.

“I am! I love him and you know I want to start a family soon- don’t pull this shit on me Tony.” You replied, scoffing upset as Morgan pouted back to you. Bucky bit his lip as he started to dry his hands, feeling guilty for listening but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop even more.

“A family? Really? What happened with Henry? You remember him, before that jackass came, Henry wanted to have a family with you, and just like that it stopped? Why not him?” Tony responded, shaking his head back to you. Morgan frowned even more, stepping closer to you for a hug because she knew you were upset as well.

“Henry cheated on me! Are you fucking comparing Bucky to a scumbag? I want to live the rest of my life with Bucky and start a family with him. If you can’t support us, then- then we’ll just leave,” You paused, sniffling, trying to control your emotions but it was hard. “If you can’t support your own sister… I don’t want to talk to you again.” You whispered, letting a tear drop against Morgan’s head as she started to protest.

“No! Stop it! You’re my auntie and I love you.” Morgan yelped out, clinging onto your torso as Tony took a step closer to the two of you. His facial expression dropped, the crease in his forehead leaving as he noticed what happened. But he couldn’t allow a murderer into the family like that, even if it meant losing his own sister. He shook his head, tugging onto Morgan’s shoulder.

“Fine, don’t come running back when Bucky hurts you.”

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom with a dull look. He tried to keep his face blank as you quickly wiped your tears off, smiling to him as if everything was okay. He knew he wouldn’t be able to give you kids, something you’ve always wanted to do was start a family, and he couldn’t do it. You never knew about it, he never found the guts to tell you it would never happen, and he felt his heart drop even more. Fucking HYDRA ruined his chances of ever having children, and you didn’t even know. Guilt ate away in his head as you leaned down, pecking Morgan’s head lovingly before Tony tugged her away.

He watched as you took a few steps back, holding your bag again before glancing over. “I um, let’s go, I don’t feel too good and I think we left the oven on.” Your voice called out uneasily, causing a deep frown to take over his face.

You sniffled as you sat in the car, watching as your boyfriend turned the ignition. “I love you,” You whispered, as the music dulled over the two of you as he pulled out of the driveway, surrounded in forestry. Bucky’s heart squeezed once more as he tried not to look back at you, knowing it would only hurt more, “Same here,” He briefly responded, not bringing himself to say love.

“How about we stop at Sam’s place before we go back? I’ve been meaning to give him back his charger he left in the car.” You spoke up, trying to think of anything else. You wanted to burn whatever memory of what happened in the house, Tony was always an asshole, but at least he tried to be kind to you. Not even today he was, and it made you wonder what your parents would have thought of this whole situation.

You didn’t even know if they’d ever forgive you for falling for their murderer.

--

It was a few days later when you felt like everything was going better. Morgan had called you and said that Tony was mopey and feeling upset, but that he was too stubborn to say sorry. You grinned when you heard it, and you always felt a special connection with your niece. Morgan helped you realize how much you wanted kids. You wanted them soon, something that everyone knows about. You could talk forever about what you’d put in baby rooms, it was a passion project of yours that you’ve always wanted to do.

Bucky felt scared. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. He had bought a ring too, wanting to propose to you. He loved you too much though, he couldn’t hurt you for so long, because you wouldn’t have kids with him. He needed to leave. It was too much, you would be better without him, find someone else.

He sighed, realizing it had to stop now before he hurt both of you even more.

He couldn’t face you though, so he sat by the bed as you slept, turning on a soft light to see the paper. It was fucked up to do, but he had to write it. He tried not to think of anything that could have been, as he gazed down to the drawer that held the ring.

“Dear Doll, I’m sorry. We can’t be together. I’ve been having second thoughts for a while now, and I realize that I can’t support your dreams. I can’t be the person you wanted me to be, and I’m sorry for that. You need someone to build a family with you, someone to be by your side for now and forever, and I fear that I’m not the person for you. I can’t give you what you want, and if we were together, there will be times you won’t see me for months… maybe years. Stay safe and happy.” He paused, his hand trembling as he clenched the pen, trying not to let his tears fall.

“I love you. Goodbye.” He finished writing, clearing his throat slightly. The note sat neatly against his pillow, before he pulled the blanket over your figure again. You snuggled into it sleepily, and unaware of Bucky leaving.

He sighed, letting a tear fall as he closed the door shut, after packing his bags.

--

Fuck, it hurt worse than he thought it would. It’s been over a week now and what he thought would happen didn’t. He thought Tony would do something, speak up and cause another fight, but no. Instead Bucky sat in silence at the motel he was staying at, watching the news to try to get over what he was feeling. He caused this, so he should suffer, he believed. He wanted to know what you’ve been doing, how you’ve been, but at the same time he knew that would only cause him to hesitate and think about what could have been.

You were a mess. Rolling over to the other side of the bed, finding it cold and empty was a shock. Next, reading the letter made you sit up, heart pounding and tears pouring down your face. At first you thought it was a joke, and you hopped out of bed, stumbling over to the bathrooms, kitchen, other bedroom- everywhere in the house. You even checked outside, and you could barely text Sam to ask where he was. He turned into something of a ghost, and you didn’t see it coming.

Fuck him, honestly. You scoffed at the thought of Bucky again today, his name churning in your stomach with a foul twist and you blinked repeatedly trying to think of anything else. You still had love for him somewhere in you, but you couldn’t find it now. You weren’t going to give him your forgiveness if he didn’t ask for it. It felt as if he wanted to burn you away from his life, his letter felt so insincere to you now, but you still could remember ever word.

You told Tony a few days after, and it was radio silence on his part. He didn’t respond to you, and it hurt more with each second that passed, feeling as if you lost two of the most important people in your life. You spoke every now and then with Sam, but you put all your attention onto work. It was unhealthy, but it was working to help you forget temporarily of the entire thing.

You didn’t sleep in the bedroom anymore either, you would sleep in the guest room or sometimes on the couch. You locked away his things, deciding not to throw them out in case you’d like to light them on fire. It was something you would do, especially with Natasha and Wanda finding out and screaming bloody murder when they heard of what Bucky did to you.

Natasha was one of your closest friends, she’s stuck by your side ever since the two of you met. Sure, there would be times you two couldn’t talk because of missions, but you always felt that Natasha was like your sister. “I’ll talk to him when I see him,” She promised you, and you had a feeling there wouldn’t be much talking going on, especially since you saw her grip her knife holster at his mention.

Wanda was your other best friend. You helped her after Ultron, when no one else was by her side. You supported her while she grieved for her brother, and you did everything you could to help her, and she swore to you she would do the same. And she has, she tried to be next to you on your days off, even when she was busy.

She was sweeter than Natasha in a way, but still terrifying when Bucky was mentioned in a conversation. “Strange that we haven’t heard from him, maybe I can…” And she trailed off. When that happened, she smiled at you, bringing a slight humor in the conversation, causing you to feel better in the moment.

--

It was the third week when you started to notice something off around you. You finally went back into the bedroom and sat by the bed, thinking of just why Bucky would do such a thing. It didn’t matter to you that he wasn’t able to give you children, there were always different options. Like adoption, foster care, surrogacy, and a few more. It was strange that he thought he had to leave.

You weren’t as hurt anymore. Maybe it was that he didn’t want kids instead, you frowned at the thought. He could have at least talked to you about it instead of leaving in the middle of the night with a note near you.

Tony finally reached out to you, inviting you back to his house to see him, Morgan and Pepper. You sat on the couch, grinning politely as Morgan giggled back to you, placing a crown on your head. “You are a queen!” She declared, bumping next to you and causing Tony to let out a chuckle.

He cleared his throat after a moment, gazing over to Morgan, “Hey, how about you go back to Mommy right now? I think she said something about going to the park.” Morgan instantly jumped up in excitement, rushing off the other room. You bit your lip, noticing your brother’s serious facial expression now and you felt your happiness lower slightly, wondering if there would be another argument.

“Did he talk to you?” Tony murmured, causing you to frown, knowing he was mentioning Bucky now. You shook your head back as a negative to his question, “No…” You trailed off, scratching your head.

Tony noticed your awkwardness and cleared his throat again, glancing away. “He’s a shitshow, but he cares about you. I didn’t see it before, he’s a mess right now at the Compound and the other bases. He keeps asking about you.” He rambled out quickly, not wanting to talk about Bucky anymore.

Your eyebrows raised in shock as you leaned back. “What the fuck?” You shot back, scrunching your nose up now. Tony let a muffled laugh out at your face before shrugging, “You heard me, I’m not saying it again.” His response made you groan in irritating and confusion.

“Wh- What is Bucky doing? You talked with him? When?” You went on, waving your hands in the air, trying to think about what he was saying.

“Bucky is doing whatever he’s doing- and yes, a few days ago. Now, don’t ask me more, you need to solve it with him. I don’t want to get involved any further,” Tony paused, letting unusual kindness seep through his voice.

“He’s… I was wrong Y/n.” Tony finished, mumbling to you. A pause went through the air as you absorbed the information, and you thanked Tony silently by getting up and giving him a slight hug. He was a pain in the ass, but you were glad he was your brother.

You left a few hours later with his words circulating around your mind. Should you reach out? Or go to the Compound? You sighed to yourself, setting a hand on your forehead as you sat in the kitchen, glancing down to your laptop. You barely went to the Compound because it reminded you of how you almost lost your brother that day, it still haunted you. But if it meant to clear things up with Bucky, to understand what’s happening, you would go.

--

Bucky hung his head down as he sat in the dark, wondering what he could do. Everything felt like shit, like everything was off, and it was all because of him. He hated it, how he still missed you too much, how he remembered everything about you.

To the way you sipped your drinks, or how you’d poke at his arm at random times and smile cheekily. Or when you’d groan at the sunlight after having a movie marathon, or the times you’d prop both his hands up and peck sweet kisses into the them in the mornings before he went on missions, as a good luck charm.

You somehow imbedded your way into his soul, and he can’t take it out. He feels incomplete without you, but he believed you would be happier without him.

He missed you so much.

Your feelings were mixed as you sat in the parking lot, drumming onto the horn in nervousness. What should you do? Reach out to him after he hurt you like that? You groaned, as you instantly started to think about what could have been, what still can be. It felt horrible, sinking into your bones, but you had to find out. You needed to know if you could still have your happily ever after with Bucky, you still loved him.

You hesitantly knocked on his door, stepping a bit away from the door as your heart started to race. After a few moments, you started to regret your decision, rethinking it as Bucky did not ever want to see you again, and this was a mistake, you bit your lip harshly as you took another step away.

Fuck. After another second, you wanted to leave for sure now. You went to turn away but paused when you heard the creaking, and the turning of the doorknob. Your head turned slightly, breathe catching as you saw Bucky peek from behind the door.

“Y/n,” He breathed out in surprise, stepping out of the room slowly. You turned completely to face him now, as you eyed his state. He was in shambles it seemed, he was wearing clothes that he’d never wear, he had bruises on his face and arm, and you noticed his eyes were droopy with wetness and bags.

He took his metal arm off as well, something he didn’t usually do. “Buck?” You whispered back, worried as he leaned against the wall.

“Doll, I’m so fucking sorry,” Bucky stopped himself, letting a tear escape as he saw you frown and shake your head back to him in disbelief. “For what? It’s obvious that you don’t want to be with me.” You bit back, crossing your arms as you became defensive.

“I want to, I wish to- but I can’t. I don’t want to be the one to hurt you.” He responded, stepping forward slightly as you closed your eyes for a few moments to stop from crying.

“You already hurt me Bucky.” You whispered, causing another tear to roll down his face. He reached for your shoulder, and you quickly shrugged his hold off as a wave of anger rushed through you.

“You don’t get to say that- you have no right to hurt me so much! What you said- what you wrote in that note, fuck you.” You rambled, letting your arms extend now and wave about the place as your anger turned into an emotion like desperation.

“I don’t understand why you did that? Why would you,” You cut yourself off to wipe your eyes slowly, “Why would you do something that so obviously hurt both of us?” Your mumble made Bucky’s heart sink.

Bucky stepped close to you now, setting his arm around your back softly as he gazed back to you. “I didn’t realize how much I loved you till I left. I’m so sorry, I thought you would be better with someone who could give you a family.” His words made you shake your head slightly, and your hand brushed by his side.

“There is no one else I want, you’re the one I love. And family- children? Bucky, I know we haven’t exactly talked much about this, but there’s different options… as long as you want a family.” You responded hopefully, realizing you would know the truth now, to see if there is any future between you both.

Bucky let out a surprised chuckle, now cupping your face instead. “Doll, I’ve always wanted one, but I know it would be hard.” You pouted back, denying it completely, “We’ll work on it! We can parent together; I love you and I know we’ll be amazing parents.”

“Amazing, huh? Don’t let Tony hear you say that, he’ll throw a fit.” Bucky joked back, allowing a smile to appear on his face after so long. Your face softened even more, the anger you had melting away as you understood him more now, he was just scared.

You leaned up onto your tiptoes in the next moment, capturing your lips with his, and holding onto him even closer. “I love you,” He murmured between kisses, pulling you back into his room, stumbling around. You smiled against his lips happily, feeling relief spread throughout your chest.

[spooderboyandtincan]

Masterlist

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35071825https://archiveofourown.org/works/34937053/chapters/87002521(Please excuse the mess)

Prompts

Tony Stitches Peter Up - Peter shows up bleeding out. Tony tries not to have a breakdown.

Chinese Food for Fridays - Random fluff with Tony, Peter and May.

Just Lost for a Minute Chapter 1 & 2 - Peter has a notorious habit of getting lost.

Well That Was Awkward -  Peter's classmates find him talking to the Tony Stark, who shouldn't even know he exists. So, naturally, chaos ensues.

Close to My Heart - A short fic full of angst and hurt/ comfort

In the Dead of Night Part 1 and 2 - Tony and Peter comforting each other through their nightmares.

Stark Only Cares for Himself - Steve thinks Tony only loves himself. He was wrong.

Spider-Man, Spider-Man - Peter proudly plays his new theme song to the Avengers.

Teething - Baby Peter is teething. Tony is very stressed.

Well at least it’s not on fire - One late night, Peter and Tony try to bake a cake. 

They’re Good Uncles, But.... Chapter 1 and 2 - Uncles Rhodey and Happy are babysitting Peter when the penthouse decides to set fire.

Time to Die... Of Embarrassment - May pulls out Peter’s baby pictures.

You Terrified Me - Bio son Peter breaks curfew. Tony is scared.

He’s not as bad as I thought - Peter has a panic attack when only Bucky is there. The two bond over Star Wars.

Lemongrass Tea - Peter is delighted to find a bubble tea shop opened downtown. He decides to try lemongrass. Unfortunately, spiders are allergic to it.

Other Fics

Car Crash Chapter 1, 2, 3, and 4 - A fun road trip leads to a disaster. Chapters 4/4

Nose Bleed - Both Tony and Peter are shocked when Peter suffers his first  nosebleed.

Baby Peter - A fluffy fic with toddler Peter and his dad

On the Ceiling - Tony finds his toddler not in his bed, but on the ceiling.

A Few Heart Attacks - Peter takes a major hit for Tony and barely survives.

Vlogging - Peter, Ned, and Shuri as seen through their vlog.

Hammock - Peter discovers the many wonderful pleasures of a hammock.

Something is Wrong - Peter collapses and scares the shit out of Tony.

Hot Chocolate and Cuddles - A fluffy fic about the first snow.

Here Comes Trouble, Make it Double - Peter had had a good day. But not anymore.

Don’t Worry, I’ll Sue Thor - Peter’s definitely not afraid of storms. Nope. Not one bit.

I Love You So, So Much - Tony tries to protect Peter from Hydra by keeping him in the tower... unfortunately, Hydra is at the tower too.

Midnight Snack - Peter has a late night snack on the ceiling.

Why the Hell Were You on the Ceiling?! - A very short fic where Peter falls asleep on the ceiling.

How do you Tie a Tie? - Tony shows Peter how to tie a tie. Peter is unsure that he belongs with the famous Avengers.

Please Don’t Kill Flash - Peter and Flash get kidnapped together. Tony is frantic.

Presumed Dead - Peter won’t eat, talk, sleep. He has nothing to live for if Tony is dead.

A Fast but Steady Heartbeat - Peter, Tony and Rhodey are enjoying their afternoon at a restaurant until the building and their food explodes.

October 30th, Day Before Halloween - Tony gets an emergency call. The Parkers have been attacked.

Peter’s Favorite Avenger? Not anymore - The Avengers meet Peter. Tony was terrified at first, and now he’s jealous. He’s still Peter’s favorite Avenger, right?

Drowning - The mission was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t. 

Rough Day? Or just tired? - Tony and Peter have a movie night. Peter falls asleep halfway through.

Temporarily Blind (and more) Chapter 1, 2, 3 , 4 - Peter goes blind. Not only that, but he’s dying.

Baby’s First Battle - Toddler Peter sneaks onto the Quinjet to help find his dad.  

Scream - Tony taught his little toddler to scream as loud as he could if someone he didn’t know tried to touch him. But he prayed Peter would never, ever end up in a situation like that. 

Being a Dad - Tony had to keep himself from calling Peter every ten seconds, reminding himself that FRIDAY was there and would alert him if anything happened. He had a deep feeling that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Happy Tears - Peter squirmed uncomfortably, the hard plastic chair digging into his back. He glanced at the clock. 2 am. Everyone else was asleep. May, Pepper, Nat, Sam. And Tony. Tony had been asleep for five days. 

Happy Birthday Peter! - Celebrating Peter’s birthday!

A Building Fell on You?! - Peter wakes up screaming. When Tony asks what his nightmare was about, Peter responds that a warehouse collapsed on him.

Hibernation -  Peter's spider side decides it's time to go into hibernation.

Blanket Forts - Peter is stressed from school. (Self-projection? Mayhaps) Tony knows just how to help.

Happy Halloween! -  Peter, Tony, and May's amazing, eventful day of picking pumpkins, carving said pumpkins, and getting spooked by watching Buzzfeed Unsolved.

You Came Back to Me - "Peter took another sip, expecting his dry throat to be blissfully cleared by the sweet cherry flavored drink.

The burning in his throat only grew. He felt like his stomach was  turning inside out and his chest had been stabbed with needle-sharp knives. The back of his neck prickled and he felt like he was in the middle of a blizzard but also in a desert with the sun directly overhead at the same time."

Or: Peter gets poisoned

tonystank and bananaboy -  Tony and Peter play Among Us, which can only result in a chaotic tickle fight (in which Peter loses drastically) and a (platonic) cuddle session while watching Star Trek.

You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone Ao3 -  When Tony had made his monthly anonymous donation of 50,000 to Peter's highschool, he hadn't thought that they would use the money to whisk his kid away to Vienna, Austria for an entire week.

I Want a Baby - Prompt from @milla-romy : I wish you would write a fic... about the Superfamily 💖

(Tony wants to adopt a baby. Steve isn't so sure.)

Presumed Dead -  After a HYDRA mission goes wrong, Peter is presumed dead and Tony mourns his son, until...

Sunny Son -  "Today is Friday, and Tony’s watch has just pinged, alerting him that Peter has arrived at the tower. He types out a quick text on the small surface of the watch: I’ll be up in 30 bud! and focuses his attention on the presenter, not because the presentation is in any way interesting, but because he needs to focus on something other than being separated from his kid.

Only thirty minutes, he thinks to himself, and he can go upstairs and cuddle his kid."

Or, Tony is a soft dad who wants to cuddle his kid- who can't stop giving him a heart attack every ten minutes.

[meggtheegg]

evan hansen, sam wilson, & wanda maximov?

ohh man this one's gonna get long so i'll put it under a read more :D

evan:

favorite thing about them

his sincere desire to make sure everyone is okay. half of his problems stem from that one need, but it's ultimately what makes him set things right, too.

least favorite thing about them

there are many obvious character flaws that i could point out, but the most overlooked one is that he goes off his fucking meds without telling anyone that shit is dangerous and should not be treated as anything but that.

favorite line

"dear evan hansen, today is going to be a good day and here's why. because today, no matter what else, today at least you're you. no hiding. no lying. just... you. and that's. that's enough. maybe someday, everything that happened will all feel like a distant memory. maybe someday no one will remember about the connor project. or me. maybe someday, some other kid is going to be standing here, staring out at the trees, feeling so...alone, wondering if maybe the world might look different from all the way up there. better. and maybe he'll start climbing, one branch at a time, and he'll keep going. even when it seems like he can't find another foothold. even when it feels... hopeless. like everything is telling him to let go. this time...maybe this time, he won't let go. he'll just hold on...and keep going. he'll keep going until he sees the sun."

brOTP

evan and zoe should be friends, and even if that's super unrealistic, i will still hold onto that

OTP

evan x going back on his gosh darn meds

nOTP

i've never really seen an evan ship that bothers me, actually

random headcanon

i've said it a million times and i will say it again, this kid has autism, and no one will ever convince me otherwise (side-eyes steven levenson and ben platt)

unpopular opinion

evan is neither a horrible kid or a smol uwu anxious bean. he's a mentally ill teenager, who should be treated with the nuance and understanding that deserves.

also, the kiss at the end of ywbf kills all the emotion and power of the song so quickly, why has it not been taken out yet

song i associate with them

kill the ghost - motherfolk

favorite picture of them

(i am so sorry, i had to share this picture with the world it makes me laugh every time)

sam:

favorite thing about them

what is there not to love about sam wilson, honestly? if i have to pick something, it's probably his adaptability. captain america trolling him on his morning run? okay, let's talk to him about his trauma. he and black widow show up at his door saying everyone's trying to kill them? let them in and make them breakfast, if they eat that kind of thing. being hunted by some masked assassin? time to bring a knife to a gunfight and win, i guess. the masked assassin is cap's best friend? well, time to drop everything and search the world for him and become an avenger. superheroes have to register with the government, now? well, guess it's time to become a fugitive and go on the run for a few years. cap is an old man, half the world has gone on without him for five years, and now he's supposed to be captain america? well, he'll hesitate to take up the mantle, but good for steve. the masked assassin that tried to kill him is part of his found family now? sure, whatever. invite him to the cookout. i think that literally nothing could surprise this man, by now, and he just keeps doing what he feels is right without even stopping to question it.

least favorite thing about them

honestly, i don't even know. some of the stuff he says to bucky feels uncharacteristically unsympathetic, in civil war and the beginning of tfatws, but also like,,,usually he's not wrong, he's just kind of blunt about it??? idk man i love sam wilson.

oh, and i guess the cowl on his cap suit looks kinda dumb and uncomfortable

favorite line

"the only power i have is that i believe we can do better."

that's sam summed up in one line, right there. he's a normal guy surrounded by superheroes and yet he holds his own and stands out because he's so sincere and dedicated and good that it doesn't even matter

brOTP

sam and steve. we should've gotten more of them hanging out, honestly. they were great together.

OTP

sambucky, baybee! for all the reasons i listed in my answer for bucky :)

nOTP

another one i can't think of anything for. i guess sam/tony, if anyone ships that???

random headcanon

sam was actually pretty quiet, as a kid. he kind of let sarah do the talking for him. it wasn't until they got older that he started becoming more talkative and developing his sense of humor

unpopular opinion

sam did make mistakes in tfatws. bucky wasn't the only one to screw up. that was what made their reconciliation so nice. yeah, bucky was being way more of an asshole about the shield than sam was about anything, but that doesn't mean he was perfect 100% of the time, and that's good. that's what makes him human and relatable.

song i associate with them

come on, there's no way i can't say trouble man, here.

favorite picture of them

wanda

favorite thing about them

her gentle kindness. especially in civil war, there's something so soft and genuine about her that's just immediately endearing.

least favorite thing about them

the way that closing scene in wandavision implied she still may become a villain, despite having that option and rejecting it at the cost of her family, earlier that same episode. it just felt...wrong.

favorite line

"i can't control their fear. only my own."

i probably quote this line way too often. it's just....chef's kiss

(honorable mention goes to: "I don't even know who you are." "You will.")

brOTP

i so wish agatha hadn't become a one-dimensional villain in the last episode, because their friendship, however fake, was really sweet.

but also her friendship with the rest of team cap, especially steve, was also really lovely and i wish we could've gotten more of that

OTP

🎶WANDAVISION, WA-WANDAVISION, WANDAVISION WA-WANDAVISION...WANDAVISION!!"🎶

nOTP

wanda/pietro....just...ew....

random headcanon

despite her love for the genre, the two sitcoms she could never watch were alf and gilligan's island. the themes of being trapped somewhere without your family, no matter how funny the circumstances, just hit too close to home.

unpopular opinion

they shouldn't have aged wanda up to match lizzie's actual age. i know it was never officially stated anywhere until wandavision, but in aou and civil war, she was heavily implied to be a teenager, and honestly, that would've made everything about her character both hit harder and make way more sense. she could have been in her late teens-early 20s by the time wandavision rolled around, but having her in her late 20s-early 30s just doesn't fit all the comments about her being a kid/going to high school/etc. making her younger would mean that her decision to join hydra was the misinformed decision of a traumatized teenager, rather than a grown woman, and could have tied into tfatws and karli, which could then expand into an actual examination of why young people are willing to go to such extremes to make change and that could have been really interesting.

song i associate with them

razzmatazz - i don't know how but they found me

favorite picture of them

[helloprettybb]

wips

i have a lottttt, in queue so this is just a little preview of some things that are finished and will be posted within this or next month and things that are still being written.

captain idiot

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.4k

status: completed and will be posted soon

You’ve had a massive crush on Steve ever since you joined the team. Actually, you liked him even before that, when you saw him on TV for the first time. You were only sixteen at the time, but seeing people like you saving New York inspired you. All of your life, you’ve been ostracized and cast out for your abilities. While your parents tried to be supportive, they still held some fear. You don’t blame them, especially after you accidentally split the house in half with a tree.

You were only seventeen when you first met Fury. He offered a position on the team. You wanted to attend college, so you declined, but you kept in touch. After graduating from university three years later, you decided to join the team. Tensions between the team were high as Steve, Natasha and Sam just rejoined the team and the Accords were dropped. But gradually, strain eased and the team seemed back to normal. Tony started talking to Steve and Bucky even joined the group. Everyone lived in harmony, until today.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just be blunt.” Steve states his intense eye contact piercing into your soul. “I like you. More than just a friend.”

You try to remain calm, but you can feel the childish joy rise in your chest. Steadying your tone, you reply, “I like you, too.” For some reason, Steve doesn’t smile but looks more serious.

He sighs and asserts, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

slip of the tongue

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.9k

status: completed and will be posted after captain idiot

Bucky makes it back to the Compound, but the pain is getting worse. Stumbling inside, he heads for the labs to look for a medkit. But of course, since it’s his lucky day, you’re there, too. You’re probably finishing the project that you were talking about for the past few weeks - something about particles accelerating, but Bucky didn’t care enough to ask. He hopes he can slip by unnoticed, but the gaping hole in his side draws attention to him.

Your head snaps up from your work and you see Bucky hobble by. “Heya Buck,” you start in your usual playful manner. But when you look at the state he’s in, your attitude changes immediately, “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbles. You look down and see that he’s holding his side. His sweatshirt and fingers are covered in blood.

“Bullshit.” you say. Moving around the lab, you quickly find the medkit. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need your-”

“Shut up and sit down.” you interrupt.

vanilla

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.1k

status: completed and will be posted after slip of the tongue

“Why do you think I’m boring?” he asks.

“Sorry?” you furrow your brows, confused as to why he randomly showed up at your room and by his question.

“I heard your conversation with Natasha.” Oh shit. “You said sex with me would be boring.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. That was just meaningless talk.” you apologize quickly.

“So you didn’t mean it?” You don’t want to lie, but now that Steve is in front of you, it’s hard to tell him what you really think. You stay silent and Steve seems to understand. “I see.”

You can’t tell if he’s hurt, so you apologize again, “I’m sorry. Honestly, I shouldn’t even think about having sex with my coworkers. That’s weird and I’m sorry to put you in this position-”

“I’m going to prove you wrong.” he interrupts.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to prove that sex with me isn’t boring. If the only reason you don’t want to date me is that you think the sex is boring, I’m going to show you you’re wrong.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Steve Rogers is offering to have sex with you.

“Steve, you don’t have to do this. If I hurt your ego or something, I’m sorry again, but-”

“It’s not just about my ego. I’ve thought about this for a long time. Not like this, but I have.” Steve just confessed that he liked you. “So, if you want, I can prove you wrong. If you don’t want me to, I can leave and pretend that none of this happened. But I don’t want you to have that misconception in your pretty little head.”

all i see

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 1.4k

status: completed and will be posted after vanilla

He consumes your thoughts all day and night. You hate yourself, truly. You resent your heart for allowing a man to have such a grip on you, but here you are, leaning against your apartment balcony with a cup of tea in your hand. Your tired eyes glance down at the city beneath you. For being the city that never sleeps, New York is pretty quiet at 3 a.m. The cars zooming below you are mostly semi-trucks with the occasional sports car.

You should be asleep, too. But every time you close your eyes, you dip into a dream about him. America’s golden boy, the ultimate patriot, Steve Rogers, your unrequited soulmate. You’re a rather closed-off person, but Steve made you believe it didn’t have to be like that.

“You know you can tell me anything?” he says randomly. It was late and you were at Steve’s apartment with an empty pizza box and a couple of beers. It’s become a sort of routine. Although the food and drink varied, the company never did.

“Yeah, Steve.” You smile, “I know that.” He smiled back at you as if he knew you didn’t completely trust your words.

“I know you’re not really open to people, but I just wanted you to know that,” he adds.

“Thanks, Steve.” you reply and you mean it.

warm me up

mystery of love

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

word count: 1.9k

status: in progress

“Hi, Draco,” you start, knowing it’s him without even looking up. Looking up from your book, you look at Draco for the first time and the smile drops from your first. He does not look good, especially since he seemed to be doing better lately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I said it’s nothing!” he snaps. Red. All you feel is red, hot, burning anger. But you sense a hollowness to it. His anger is strong, yes. But there’s something else to it.

You furrow your brows and read his body language. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are shaking.  

“Can I hold your hand?” you ask.

“What?” A confused, sneer written on his face.

“Draco, you’re shaking. Just let me hold your hand.” you add, “Please.”

enticing

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: about 800

status: in progress

Bucky’s big arm is wrapped around your side and with the blanket strewn across your laps, you’ve never felt more content. You lean your head against his chest and Bucky kisses your forehead. It’s nice and domestic, until a scene starts. You’re thankful that Bucky is behind you and can’t see your widened eyes. The characters are ripping clothes off one after another until they’re practically naked. The man hovers over the woman and cages her between his arms. You can’t help but imagine that being you and Bucky. You feel your face start to heat up as lustful thoughts cloud your mind.

You must be squirming a lot because Bucky asks, “You okay, doll?” You nod against him and continue to watch the scene. Your jaw drops as the characters begin to simulate sex. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a sex scene, but you’ve never watched one with your boyfriend while he was practically wrapped around you.

As you continued to watch, you felt yourself heat up, undeniably turned on. It’s so embarrassing! Here you are trying to have a nice movie night with your boyfriend, yet you can’t control your horniness.

“Buck,” you say quietly.

“What is it, honey?” he asks nicely.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask meekly, like you're scared he’s going to reject you.

tongue so mean

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

word count: about 400

status: in progress

“I hate you.” Draco looks at you with a hard look in his eyes. He has the same frustration and annoyance as when you receive higher marks than him, but something’s different. The usual intense, angry passion that comes with your rivalry is tinged with a different kind of heat. One that equally terrifies and intrigues you. “But I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

You try to hide your surprise, but a small gasp slips out. “Draco?”

“You consume my thoughts. You are first on my mind when I wake and last when I sleep. And I don’t know why, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, even though you know the answer. You just need him to say it out loud.

“Don’t make me say it.” he looks away as if he’s disgusted with his own feelings.

“No,” you move closer, the gap between you two getting smaller. “Say it, Draco.”

Draco scoffs, “You already know.” He’s so close that you can smell hints of his cologne. Traces of musk fill the air, adding to the alluring atmosphere. You’re breathing heavy. His words shouldn’t have that much of an impact on you, but you can’t deny the pleasant images that fill your head as he speaks.

“No, I don’t” you reply, feigning innocence to tick Draco off. “I think you need to be more clear.”  

warm me up

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: about 600

status: in progress

“Hey babe, warm my dick up wontcha?” Steve asks right when you walk into his office. You look up from the file that you were sent to give him. Usually files were sent digitally, but since Steve was so terrible at technology, everything was given to him in paper form.

“There are nicer ways of asking that,” you lightly reprimand, walking over to his mahogany desk.

“Can you please sit on my lap and slide that pretty little pussy onto my cock?” Steve asks lowly. You can feel your face going red and heart beating faster. Just last year, Steve wouldn’t be caught dead saying those words, but now it comes so naturally to him. He can sense your flustered reaction as he gently removes the file from your hand and places it on the desk.

You move to straddle his waist and slot each leg over his thighs. Sitting down, you can feel that he’s already semi-hard. “I don’t know. You have a lot of work to do, honey.” you tell him and spare a glance at his desk, which is covered in numerous files. “I think I’d just distract you.”

Steve furrows a brow at your reply, “I won’t be distracted. Promise.” If you weren’t so close to him, you’d laugh at the neediness your super-soldier boyfriend displays. This man, who can rip logs in half and run 13 miles in half an hour without breaking a sweat, is nearly begging you to sit on his cock.

There are some more, but these are the main ones i will be focusing on.

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Epilogue]

Chapter:  Epilogue 

Summary: Happy ever after has a few surprises. 

Warnings:  Astrophile fluff & and so much romantic Bucky.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s over but here we are! Okay, it’s not totally over because we still have Astrophile Files. Thanks for hanging in there with me. 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

July 2021 – One year later

“It’s right, Buck. She’s the one. We’ve all known it since she came to family dinner that first night. Everyone was just waiting for you to catch up.”

 Bucky holds his hand up to the bartender, silently asking for another beer and a glass of water for Y/n as Steve continues right on pestering him. Right here in the middle of their friend’s wedding reception. Maybe it’s attending a wedding that makes people lose their minds? This is the first proper wedding Bucky has been to, and it didn’t take long for him to realize it makes the wedding party and the guests a tiny bit nuts.

“Drop it, Steve.” Bucky drops a few bills into the glass tip jar resting on the bartop – anything to avoid having this conversation with Steve for the twentieth time this month. Steve looks down at him; mouth pressed in a thin line and disappointment pouring off of him.

“I thought you learned your lesson? What are you waiting for, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses at Steve’s question. He didn’t know honestly. They have been dating for a year now, and it’s been good. That’s a lie. It’s been amazing, fantastic, unbelievable – it’s been the most incredible year of Bucky and Ori’s life. Y/n fits right in like she’s always meant to be a part of their lives. She makes every day brighter. She makes him better, a better man and a better father. She helps Ori with homework and school projects like she’s thrilled to do it and the kicker is, she actually is. She hasn’t missed one of Ori’s practices (because Ori picked up the violin over the last year and Y/n didn’t even flinch when the at-home practices started). And the best part of it all, Y/n’s home for dinner every single night because as of six months ago she moved into Bucky’s brownstone.

The only nights Ori spends away from home now are when Bucky takes Y/n on a date which he endeavors to do once a week. Some weeks they don’t make it out the front door, but even if they end up eating pizza on the living room floor, he makes sure Y/n knows how lucky he is to have her. Bucky doesn’t know if there is such a thing as heaven but he’s got a feeling this is the closest he can get to it here on Earth. He’s determined to spend the rest of his life, making sure she never regrets choosing to spend all of her tomorrows loving him.

Bucky truly has no idea what he’s waiting for, he’s had the ring for months now, and Bucky even knows how he’s asking, but it’s not time. The moment has to be as perfect as she is.

“It’s gotta be the right moment, Stevie. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

The table a few feet away catches Bucky’s attention. Peter Parker, a teenager interning for Tony, is sitting on a tiny chair next to Ori with a perplexed look on his face. Peter leans forward on his elbows, watching Ori color on the table cloth at her designated spot at the kid’s table with fierce determination to make her picture better than the boy’s across the table. He is trying to find the best way to ask a six-year-old something that’s been confusing him since the ceremony. Peter only met Mr. Stark a year ago, so he is still trying to get to know everyone, but he thought it was just Ori and her dad. He picks up the crayon Ori abandoned on the table between them and decides he is merely going to spit it out.

“Hey, Ori? Who was sitting with your dad?” Peter asks quietly as he helps her fill in the castle printed onto the fabric in front of them. Tony thought it would be a good idea if the table cloth at the kid’s table were a giant coloring book; entertaining for the kids and parents get to relax. He was right. The kids love it – Peter included.

Ori doesn’t look up from what she’s coloring and tells him. “That’s my mom.”

The crayon in Peter’s hand freezes, and he looks at Ori, thoroughly and properly confused now. Yeah, he doesn’t know every member of each family yet, but he does know that Ori’s mom left right after she was born.

“Uh, your mom, Ori?”

Ori drops her dark blue crayon back into the pail sitting in the middle of the table and finally looks up at Peter long enough to roll her eyes – that’s all Uncle Sam. “Not the mom who left me when I was a baby. My real mom.”

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on his daughter, but she looks so cute coloring and days like these are getting fewer and fewer the older she gets. So, yeah, he is spying, and he didn’t feel bad about it until that confession. Bucky doesn’t know whether he should faint right there at the bar or ask Y/n to marry him without a ring in the middle of Tony’s reception. He pushes the glasses in his hands into Steve’s chest, forcing him to take them and places a kiss to Ori’s forehead with a resounding smack. She giggles and ‘wipes’ the kiss from her forehead.

“Daaaaddddy!” Ori whines, half serious and half playful.

“Comet!” He says, matching her whine and grinning while he does.

Now, Bucky has someone very important to find.

He scans the crowd of people, close to five hundred showed up for the big day – not that Bucky had expected anything less from Tony, but it isn’t making finding his better half easy right now and he is itching to get his hand on her. He catches sight of her powder blue knee-length dress, covered in silver, shimmery stars and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He navigates his way through the crowd towards her; his one and only.

This morning she had panicked over her outfit for tonight. The dress was too much. The soft blue fabric revealed too much skin with the sweetheart neckline and the sheer fabric littered with silver stars covering her chest and arms made it overly fancy she had said. Bucky had stared at her for a long time when she came out of the bathroom. He was speechless. Yeah, he’s seen her dressed up before, but she wasn’t his then. This was different. He finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled into her a kiss that nearly ended with the dress torn and crumbled in a pile in its new home on their bedroom floor.

When he pulled back, flushed and nearly breathless, he told her it didn’t matter what she wore. He assured her she was going to be the most beautiful woman in the room regardless of what she picked, so if she wanted to wear the dress, then she should wear it. He was right because, shit – she looks so damn beautiful right now.

Y/n is intently listening to Sam’s tales about Oliver and how bad teething is actually going – regardless of Steve’s sunny optimism on the subject. Bucky overhears the tail end of their conversation, “You’ll see soon enough. Wait till you and Buck have to deal with a screaming baby at four in the morning after he’s been on a forty-eight-hour shift.” If his brain wasn’t short-circuiting from the last conversation he spied on, he would probably examine this talk more, and by examine he means inquire exactly what Sam had meant by soon enough.’

Bucky grabs Y/n’s waist and spins her around capturing her lips in a fiery kiss ignoring the eye roll from Sam. His left hand splays out on her lower back, keeping her pressed firmly against him as his tongue sweeps along her lips only to pull back right as her lips part. She narrows her eyes, and he chuckles, giving in to one more kiss, softer and sweeter than the last.

“Dance with me.” He whispers into their kiss, gently tugging at her bottom lip as he pulls back and walks them back to the dance floor. She doesn’t have much of a choice it looks like – not that she would have said no. The night is coming to a close, and they are down to slow dances only, trying to wind the crowd down, and she would love nothing more than to end the night in Bucky’s arms swaying to I can’t help falling in love with you.

Bucky’s hand tightens around her waist, keeping her pressed securely against his chest as they move around the dance floor. He cradles the hand that should rest on his left shoulder in his own, resting them against his chest. She has no idea what came over him, but she’s not going to bother trying to find out when he’s holding her like this.

“Did you have a good time?” Y/n asks just above the music. Bucky meets her eyes and raises his brow as if that was the silliest question she’s ever asked him. Surely, she knows the answer to that, but he can play along if that’s what she wants.

“‘Course I had a good time. I’m here with you.”

Oh, boy. 

“Smooth talker.”

Bucky chuckles and kisses her lips chastely, squeezing her hand as he does. Y/n sighs happily as their lips part, and she adds, a bit of longing behind her words that Bucky did not miss,“It was a pretty wedding, though.”

Bucky nods in agreement and looks around at the bright red and gold glimmering everywhere. Pearls and diamonds in the flowers, hundreds of candles all over the place, a cake that is nearly taller than Steve and glittery table cloths. There’s even a freaking chandelier in the middle of the tent – they are in the grass for crying out, but Tony has a chandelier.

“A little flashy for my taste but it’s all right,” Bucky says truthfully, looking back at her. The wedding is gorgeous, but it’s nothing close to what he sees when he thinks about marrying the woman in his arms.

“Pepper looks beautiful,” Y/n says eyeing the strawberry blonde in her Justin Alexander ivory gown, clinging to Tony’s arm as they made their way around the cathedral tent, stopping to chat with their guests and thanking everyone for coming. Bucky never looks away from Y/n. He doesn’t need to. Pepper might look beautiful today, but she’s no Beck.

“She’s got nothing on you, sweetheart.”

Y/n grins and shakes her head, trying to hide how flustered she’s getting from such little work on his part. It’s not that she’s not used to it. Once they were official, she learned just how much Bucky had been truly holding back. He’s constantly touching her, always whispering in her ear and trying to make her knees weak. Bucky tries to get her squirming every chance he get, and it seems he can’t stop today. It might have something to do with the kiss he just gave her. Or maybe the one in the limo on the way over (Tony insisted they take a limo) or it could have been the heated makeout session in the shower before they got ready.

Something has him all worked up, and she wants to know what.

“What is with you today?”

Bucky grins, tightening his hold around her waist and dips her unexpectedly. Her giggles fill in the softer notes of the melody, and Bucky lowers his head towards her as if he’s going to kiss her, but instead he whispers, “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you. I can’t help it.”

Y/n smiles and lets out a soft, ‘I love you, too’ and Bucky knows she’s trying not to get teary-eyed in front of everyone. He pulls her back to standing, letting her arms settle around his neck this time, he asks, “you think you ever wanna have one of these with me?”

The question gives her back some of her equilibrium and her brow arches, fingers playing with the loose strands that have fallen from his bun as she finds her voice.  “I hope that’s not how you’re asking me.”

Bucky chuckles, and she leans her head on his shoulder to hide the emotions twinkling in her eyes – he’s too good at reading her, and she wasn’t ready for him to catch on just yet. He places a kiss on her head and wraps his arms around her, gently guiding her around the dance floor.

“No, that’s not how I’m asking you. I’ve got somethin’ else in mind for that day.” He whispers against the shell of her ear. He can feel her grinning against his neck, and her breath tickling his skin as she assures him, “Just so you know; however, you ask, I’ll say yes.”

Bucky tightens his arms around her but doesn’t respond. He didn’t think there would be another answer, but hearing it laid out made that ring in the top of the guest room closet a hell of a lot more real. Ori comes pushing through the couples on the dance floor, ditching her dance with Uncle Steve to share one with her parents. Bucky bends down to scoop her up and settles her between them. Y/n places a kiss to her cheek, and Ori lights up in response.

“Did I miss it??” She asks, looking back and forth between them.

Yn pulls back enough to see Bucky’s face and gives him the ‘are you kidding me’ look. Bucky barks out a laugh and shakes his head, “I don’t know what she’s talking about, babydoll. I swear.”

“No, Y/n, did you tell daddy yet?”

Y/n’s eyes go wide as they have a silent conversation – it’s clearly something that’s only between girlfriends, and that’s not always a good thing when it comes to these two. Bucky groans at the thought and settles them both with the best stern dad face he has in his arsenal. 

“Okay, what trouble did the two of you get in? What did you do and what do I have to fix?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison, and Y/n continues, much calmer and still very suspicious.  "We were thinking… maybe you could ask Steve to paint a mural in the guest bedroom? Something with the stars. Sparkly and pretty, maybe?”

Bucky frowns, and the frown continues to deepen thanks to the giddy expressions on his girl’s faces. It was just a painting. What’s the big deal? Something is up. 

“Yeah, I can ask him. It doesn’t have to be me who asks, you know? He would say yes if you asked him, sweetheart.”

“I know that,” Y/n’s fingers tighten around the fabric of his black dress shirt. “I thought you might want to be the one to tell him the news when you do.”

“News?” Bucky’s face twists into something she doesn’t recognize, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from laughter.

“Actually, we have to redo the whole room. Don’t we, Ori?”

“Yep! With lots of stars and comets and constellations!”

“Get rid of the bed–”

“Yep, no bed.” Ori agrees and adds with a shout, “and rocking chair!”

“Of course, and that old dresser has to go. We need something smaller, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and maybe a pink one!”

“Or, blue,” Y/n offers but Ori wrinkles her nose and Y/n settles her with a fond, yet scolding expression and Ori reluctantly nods her head.

Bucky shakes his head and comes to a halt, stopping their dance right there in the middle of the floor. He’s completely and utterly lost. “What are you two going on about? Painting and rocking chairs and a pink dresser but not a blue–” Bucky freezes, and his eyes snap up to meet Y/n’s who’s no longer holding her tears back.

Holy shit. He had not been expecting this.

“You mean?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean.”

Bucky smushes Ori between them and sets an attack of kisses on them both, ignoring the tears catching in his lashes. This is the moment. This right here and he’s not letting it slip away. He ends the attack with a kiss to Y/n’s lips and whispers, “Man, I’ve got a really important question to ask you when we get home.”

“Pinky promise, December?”

He grins and swears right back, “Pinky promise, Beck.”

Previous // Masterlist

[theawkwardterrier]

Games We Play

Steggy Week 2k20, day 3 Prompt: Modern Day

Summary: Steve and Peggy’s new interest in their phones has the others confused and concerned.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents​ for organizing!

Steve often sits up front to chat with Clint when he’s in the pilot’s seat. According to him, he used to do that during the war sometimes too, just shooting the breeze while being transported here or there. (Well, he actually said “shooting the shit,” which made Clint raise an eyebrow, but probably like him more than he thought he’d ever like someone who referred to “the war,” as if there’d only been one.)

It’s just the two of them today - unusual but they were the ones around - and yet Steve takes out his phone as they take off, fiddling around and muttering at it.

“You need me to drop you over the Apple Store on the way back?” Clint finally asks, trying to tease out what the issue is. He’s actually fine without a conversation, and Steve is pretty good at comfortable silence, but you take care of your teammates, notice when something’s different. Agent Carter might be around, understanding him in ways no one else can, but it can be good to get a new perspective.

“What?” Steve says, still distracted. “No, it’s fine.” He gives a final, triumphant tap to his screen, mutters, “How d’you like that?” and puts his phone into his pocket.

“Okay.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Now explain the appeal of NASCAR to me again.” So Clint does, and Steve still doesn’t get it, and Clint notices him continuing to check his phone the whole rest of the trip back.

“Morning, Aunt Peg!” Tony strides into her office as if Peggy’s assistant is a potted plant, and not even a particularly interesting one. Hugo is a bulldog with nearly everything, and had actually tendered his resignation in shame over his inability to stop Tony from doing what he wanted; Peggy told him that unfortunately this was a Stark feature that they would both have to simply learn to live with.

By which she means that Hugo can stand down and allow Tony entry without a fight - but that Peggy doesn’t have to give him a scrap of attention until she is ready to do so.

She doesn’t even glance up as he seats himself across from her, slapping a file folder against his palm. The gum he is chewing - actual bubble gum, like a child - is obvious from both the scent and the bubbles he blows to entertain himself as she continues to drag her finger across her tablet.

His patience, of course, runs out first. Doubtless he’d already been a little buzzy with energy if he’d decided to take a trip down with hard copy documents for her. “What are you doing there?” he asks, craning to see, but the glare from the window is too strong and a second later, she’s dropped the cover shut anyway and transferred her attention to her computer monitor.

“I think you’ve adapted too well to modern technology,” he tells her grumpily, watching the ease with which she switches between them. That actually makes her flick a laughing eyebrow upward.

“We use what we have and do what we must. I would certainly like to see you trying to get by in 1945.”

Tony shudders. “No bet. I’ve seen one of my dad’s old soldering irons from back then. Thick as a pipe. Totally without finesse.”

“Howard did manage quite a bit without your fancy tools, but there’s no shame if you couldn’t,” she says innocently, attention entirely focused on clicking something as he sputters in front of her. Typing a few final words, she finally turns toward him fully. “Now what was it you needed, or were you merely finding it dull in your workshop despite your precision soldering irons?”

“I’m starting to remember why I always regret coming down here,” he mutters, but flips the folder onto her desk anyway. “Just need your John Hancock by the arrows. Or Jane Hancock, I guess.”

She picks up the file, starting to page through it as she remarks over the top, “Oh, are we going to waste some perfectly good tea by tossing it into the harbor?”

“I think your Lipton is safe.”

“As if I would ever,” she says sternly, marking a large X across a paragraph she doesn’t like, turning the page and doing it again. Once she’s finished with the whole document, she drops it back onto the desk so it slides toward him.

“You must have known I wouldn’t sign that.”

“Worth a try,” he shrugs.

“Well, try again and see if it’s worth your while,” she says, just as her tablet makes a soft, insistent ding.

“Need to get that?” Tony asks, leaning shamelessly forward as she flicks the cover open.

She spins her chair, saying archly, “I do, actually. I assume you can find your way out?”

“Naughty pics from Cap, huh?”

“Yes, which leaves me to wonder why you’re so eager to catch a glimpse.”

“He’s a handsome man,” Tony says, seemingly unbothered, but when Peggy replies, “He certainly is,” he makes a retching sound and stands to leave.

“Bothered by a woman enjoying her sexual prime, are we?” she asks, and he beats his way out of her office, passing Hugo at a near-jog.

She chuckles quietly and applies herself back to the task at hand.

“I don’t think it has an easy answer,” Bruce says, “and we’ll probably be dealing with it for a long time yet.”

“It’s probably a good first step that it’s being taken on at all. Back—” Steve stops himself, takes a sip of his drink; he tends toward coffee on the whole, but when they meet up he usually joins Bruce in his search for the best chai in the city.

“You were going to say, “back in my day…” weren’t you?” Banner teases, gently delighted. “It’s okay, you still can. I won’t tell.”

Steve shakes his head. “Tony probably has some kind of radar for it.” He moves off the curb to let a couple pushing a baby carriage go by, then steps back up to walk the last block to the tower beside Bruce.

“How’s the latest alloy coming?” Steve asks, tossing his cup into the garbage by the reception desk. Bruce groans, even though it’s nice to have someone actually remember what project he’s working on.

“We’re getting close, but the fine tuning is a killer.” The elevator arrives and people start flowing out into the lobby. “What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Not much,” Steve starts, but then puts his hand in his pocket, distracted by the vibration from his phone. “I’m just—I have to—”

“Are you coming?” Bruce asks, after he’s been holding the door of the empty elevator for a solid minute and Steve, engaged with the device, doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Bruce wonders if he’s read the research about changing brains based on screen use.

Steve waves a hand, attention still on the screen. “I’ll take the next one.”

“Same time next week for book club?” Bruce calls as the doors close.

“Yeah.” Steve actually looks up at him for a second, that familiar grin on his face. “This’ll all be finished by then.”

Bruce returns to his lab with the definite feeling that he doesn’t want to know exactly will be finished.

“There really aren’t any beaches like the ones over there. I’ve only ever been while I was working, and I still managed to have a good time,” Natasha says, finishing the last of her steak.

“We are planning a vacation,” Peggy says thoughtfully. “The middle of April, as long as no world-ending danger pops up between now and then.”

Nat smiles. “We’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Although you could always slip out before things get really bad and just forget to have your phones on.”

“Steve would never stand for it,” Peggy says, which is true, but they both know that Peggy herself wouldn’t either.

“Is everything…” Natasha hesitates. Uncharacteristic, maybe, but she still isn’t entirely used to the rules of having friends. “Are you and Steve okay? Because I’ve been picking up a little...something lately.”

“What? Oh, yes, everything’s fine.” Peggy takes a little sip of iced tea through her straw. “I have no idea what you might have detected.” And if Nat wouldn’t have said it with equal complete casualness, she might have believed her.

“Are you sure? Because--”

Peggy’s phone buzzes inside her purse on the table. She takes it out, pursing her lips as she looks at the screen.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” Nat says slowly.

With a laugh, Peggy taps one last time and slides her phone away. “Isn’t everyone these days? Terrible habit, but I’m sure I’ll break myself of it one day soon.” She picks up the dessert menu. “Now, what’s for pudding?”

Natasha orders the most deeply chocolatey thing on the menu; she figures she deserves it with whatever’s going on.

“A strong bout,” Thor says, clapping Steve approvingly on the shoulder.

Steve walks over to the bench at the side of the gym where they left their stuff. “You too, even if the whole ‘mythical god who can call down storms’ bit tilts things a little in your favor.”

“Your little disc stands up well to them!” Thor assures him earnestly, tapping the shield as Steve sets it down and picks up his phone. “But perhaps I can make it up to you.”

“Depends,” Steve says with a frown, taking in whatever is on the screen, “on whether you know anything about the game Scrabble and what to do with these letters.”

Thor leans over to look. “You use the letters to make words which intersect, I understand.” His eyes roam over the board and then he says tentatively, “Are there not gherkins on Midgard?”

“Huh?”

“Gherkins?” Thor forms a little shape with his large fingers in demonstration. “Small pickled cucumbers?”

A smile grows over Steve’s face. “You’re a genius,” he says, manipulating something on the screen. “A genius at storms and at Scrabble.”

“Well,” says Thor, clearly pleased but trying to be fair, “perhaps only very good at Scrabble.”

“You know what was really great? When you put down kinkajou,’” Steve says around the toothbrush in his mouth. He spits. “I had wanted to use that N but it was worth it.”

“It was,” says a satisfied Peggy from where she’s changing into her pajamas. “And I’d like to know where exactly you pulled ‘bezique’ from.”

“Churchill loved it. He tried to get me to play a time or two. I was just lucky the B was already on the board.” Flipping off the bathroom light, he comes over to the bed and pulls the covers aside for himself.

Between their combined salaries - well, after Peggy found out that Steve was still getting the baseline amount agreed to after he’d woken up and had negotiated an appropriate raise on his behalf - they’ve been able to afford not only a bed that they can sprawl in, but a bedroom that their new mattress can fit into. Lying down in it might be Steve’s favorite part of the day.

“Did you realize we’d been worrying everyone this week? They all think something awful has been happening or that we’re breaking up.” He stretches, shoving the extra pillow to her side (he can’t sleep with more than one).

Peggy snorts. “Amateurs. They should just be lucky that they didn’t see us after the poker championship back in—What was it, ‘44?”

“Just before - December of ‘43. I didn’t think I’d make it to New Year’s,” he recalls fondly as she climbs into bed and snuggles into him.

“I’d never have let that happen. You’re smart, moderately talented, and you play to win; it would be a shame for that to go to waste.”

He kisses her. “Good to know where I stand, I guess.” He kisses her again. “Maybe we’ll tone things down a bit but how about a new game tomorrow?” He kisses her a gentle third time.

“We’ve played every day since we discovered the application,” she points out. “Why should tomorrow be any different?” She kisses him this time, pressing him back into the pillow until he forgets all about competition or vocabulary or any of it.

(Eight and a half months later, she types “magnetizes” triumphantly into her phone - and on a triple word score too - as they wheel her up to the maternity floor. They don’t tell anyone else about that part.)

[dise7se]

gone, gone (thank you)

by @spideysforce (8.1k) for @tonystarkdadmode ( @irondad-fic-exchange )

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Betty Brant, Quentin Beck, Tony Stark, Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page

Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Quentin Beck & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Summary: 

Peter has paranoia looming behind him, always watching him, never lingering too close but never leaving him alone. In each dark corner of any alleyway he’s in, paranoia follows him. The green gases and mists seeping out of his city’s storm drains, twirling mystically around his feet, those are all Mysterio. His anxiety-addled brain has convinced him each warp of sulfur dioxide twirling through the air, green subway lights illuminating each particle is Quentin Beck, taunting him in his home."I've got a show waiting for you in Manhattan."

— prompts: presumed dead, hypothermia, and hurt/comfort

read on ao3 (leave comments and kudos)

“There is no way Parker is Spider-Man!” Flash said, voice distant down the hall of the snow-lodge cabin, game pieces clacking against the board.

“And why can’t he be?” Betty asks, voice muffled over a piece of licorice.

“We’ve already been over this,” Ned sighs, the room quieting except for the crackle of the fireplace in front of them where they gathered on the living room floor surrounding the coffee table.

“Bullshit.”

“The dickwad is right here, you know,” MJ says, setting her mouth straight to hide her laugh. She fails. “Ned, let’s hear him out. Can Flash really connect Peter Parker to Spider-Man? JJJ couldn’t.”

They can, not that the Daily Bugle should have aired out his business for all of his home city to prey on, for Mysterio to get into his head, and target every last of his loved ones. It had only been a few months since the older man had faked his death on television, had the Daily Bugle ruin his reputation more than they’ve already tried, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly with Pepper Potts to backtrack on this PR nightmare that carefully painted a brushstroke target on each of his loved ones.

Peter has paranoia looming behind him, always watching him, never lingering too close but never leaving him alone. In each dark corner of any alleyway he’s in, paranoia follows him. The green gases and mists seeping out of his city’s storm drains, twirling mystically around his feet, those are all Mysterio. His anxiety-addled brain has convinced him each warp of sulfur dioxide twirling through the air, green subway lights illuminating each particle is Quentin Beck, taunting him in his home.

These last few months, his previous mentor has been out of commission, along with other Avengers. He can’t complain, though, he has a feeling he’s making new allies in his home-burough while being a vigilante. Possibly a new mentor, but that’s him projecting. There is no Mysterio if he buries himself in school and work, if he’s exerting himself.

He walks over and joins the rest of them in the living room of the cabin from the hallway where he set down his suitcase and organized it before aunt May came back.

“You hear back from MIT?” MJ asks, scooting closer to him once he sits down on the floor beside her and the coffee table.

“Not yet,” he says, all the attention shifting to him. “I think we’ll all hear back by next week.”

“Well, we may have applied, but it doesn’t mean all of us will get in..” Flash announces, earning an elbow to the ribs by an exasperated Betty.

This is their new dynamic now, really, maybe it was their subconscious way of coping with their previous summer vacation, they began gravitating towards each other.

Peter watched the confusion flicker across Flash’s face, mumbling an apology and a sarcastic, “it’s true..”

He’s been doing that more often, and even though he’s made it clear that he hates it when Peter looks at him with that, ‘psychoanalytical’ face, he’s trying to figure him out. Flash is an electrical current, a neon light buzzing, flickering and it seems like there’s a fuse ready to burst into flecks at any time. He doesn’t mind when Flash is annoyed with him, he knows sophomore and junior year bailing on Academic Decathlon was his fault, but there’s a weight off his shoulders since his identity was revealed to the entire world, he’s in a legal case with a local Queens lawyer to soften the blow currently, and he can handle these little outbursts.

If Flash goes around the school revealing his identity, well, he doesn’t have much leverage.

He puts everything he has into tormenting Peter, but that’s how he is. That’s how their classmates see him, he likes being the center of attention.

The second time he noticed it happen, it was after their Europe trip. He was hugging May, holding her close, Betty, Ned and MJ scattered, and he caught sight of Flash. May turned their 1940s Revolvo on and they sat with the cold air blowing on their faces, May’s face flickering between him and Flash and his butler.

He never dared to bring it up. Ned and MJ never allowed him to, no matter how subtly he planned to. It wasn’t fair of his family, it wasn’t fair for him to go through alone. He never fooled Petter with his facade, but the sinking feeling in his stomach felt worse. He couldn’t ignore it any longer, no matter how many obligations he has to worry about.

Ben taught him when any situation arises for him to be the bigger person, he needs to be the bigger person and assume responsibility. He knew he needed to help find Flash a safe space if he couldn’t by himself. Or, fuck, even just support him whenever he needed to.

In his own fucked up way, Flash had his back as well.

He shoved a skateboard into his arms one afternoon after leaving a Decathlon meeting, murmuring he needed a skating partner today. To not take it personally, they wouldn’t hold hands or anything, but to make fun of someone else if they fall off the board or eat shit.

He had a feeling, and he thinks he’s right. That morning, Peter came in late, nearly dragged in by May because of a late night run-in with Silver Stable. With the scrapes and bruises from being dragged through Manhattan, he might as well have been dragged by a skateboard and not his web shooters.

So, they skateboarded.

And he did eat shit.

Ned, MJ, and Flash scold Betty for accidentally shoving the Monopoly board too far to the left, Ned yelling at Flash to stop cheating and taking his money. May comes in at the perfect time, yelling over the teenagers that she bought everyone’s sandwiches from the sub shop.

“May, you bring my camera in?” Peter asks through a full mouth of lettuce, bread, tomato, cheddar, and deli-meats, earning a light playful smack upside the head.

He doesn’t miss Flash’s furrowing brows, his body immediately freezing from across the kitchen island. She mutters, “Yes, Peter, next time I’ll make you walk a quarter mile in the snow for it.”

He snorts, earning a small, ‘smeck,’ on the forehead and watches May pass out the rest of his friends’ food and chips and drinks. He forgot what this was like, back in Europe with Ned when they felt independent on their own and like they could take on the world from a small, cramped space with all their friends.

“Hey, Peter, did you get an email back from that lawyer?” Ned asks, chewing loudly from his chips and turning back to him. His other half, the other part of his brain, oh, where would he be without Ned? “Remember, you said you’d get one.”

“Mm!” Peter exclaims with a full mouth, taking his phone out from his jean pocket. He doesn’t give the group any details, ever, just the public information the brand new firm allows to go to the press. They’ve strategic in their methods, and May was the most doubtful at first, but the two lawyers and impressive secretary were not as amateur as their clientele suggested.

He turns his phone screen to let May watch his email app load, slurping loudly on his drink while May sighs. “You know, I won’t miss that when you go off to school next year. I think you do it on purpose.”

“Hm, a schemer never tells.”

An email with the subject Please read by tonight, 12/11 which makes his stomach lurch. May hesitates, grabbing onto his hand holding the phone and her hand shakes slightly before she presses on the lock button. This could mean anything. His paranoia, the slight buzz constantly whirring behind him at all times from his senses could be triggered by anything and everything, could be confirmed by this email.

May squeezes his shoulder, ready to talk to the rest of the group once she notices his jaw lock-up in anxiety. “We did get an email. Come on, after you guys eat, we’ll do ice skating as promised.”

MJ continues with their conversation about MIT earlier, which leads to an argument over whether or not there truly is a class on street fighting mechanics, or do they call it that to glorify physics.

He knew forgetting about the email until he could be alone to read it with me would not help him at all. He excuses himself, picking his phone up and ignores the worrying glances from his friends.

Before he can think to text Tony, his caller ID flashes across the screen. “Hello?”

“ Hey, Peter ,” he begins, “I only have a few minutes to talk, Morgan’s taking a bath and is currently making bubble potions that may or may not be spilling over the bathtub. Wanted to check in on you..”

“Don’t let Morgan flood the bathroom again, Tony,” he says lightheartedly, knowing why he’s calling. “Listen, were you cc’ed into the lawyer’s email? I haven’t read it yet and—”

“Whoa, slow down kid,” he says, and Peter walks up the wooden stairs of the lodge, watching the living room between the wooden panels. He really needs to give Tony shit for inviting them to a cabin the size of his apartment complex floor. “ That actually is why I’m calling. They said Nelson has reason to believe Mr. Beck may be conspiring inside of the prison, but he can’t know for sure. This is not a reason to become anxious, okay?”

“What do you mean he’s conspiring?! ” Peter yelps, yanking the nearest door open in the long hallway and closing himself in with an unnecessary slam. “What reason does this lawyer have?”

He thinks his friends can hear him from downstairs, he knows May can.

“ Calm down ,” he chastises over the phone, his voice rough and quiet. Peter curses himself for making the man drop his own familial responsibilities for him, but his guilt complex the size of Manhattan won’t let him go through this by himself. Like he needs to. “ Don’t get worked up. I wanted to call and let you know I have someone looking into this even further, along with Murdock and Nelson. It’s probably just a threat out of boredom, probably got a smack on the wrist for staying out past curfew and he wants to take it out on everyone. ”

Peter sighs, sinking down onto the ceramic tile floor of the bathroom. It’s large, has fluffy white towels on a rack to his left, a large walk-in shower, and is bare of bath-mats but signs point to supplies under the sink. This is good, he thinks, he can ground himself.

The tile is cool on his hand, it’s freezing him through his jeans, one of the laces on his snow boots came undone, and he can hear Morgan screeching in the background over her magical bath potions that she’s going to make a mermaid out of.

“ You still with me? ” Tony’s voice comes through the other end of the phone, and he swears he can hear more crackling than usual. It might just be the snow drifting outside messing with the nearby towers and powerlines.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m right here.” His voice comes out even smaller than intended.

“Can I call you back? I need to call May now, and— Morgan, you can’t use scissors on the bubbles! ”

A sense of familiarity washes over Peter, and he succumbs to the feeling of safeness associated with Tony and Morgan. He’d been too close to death already. He was dead. And after navigating life without Tony for a while, he piled each responsibility like building blocks, a delicate glass structure he could shatter at any given moment, and Mysterio took a hammer to the glass. Thanos buried his glass structure, leaving part of him under with it.

“Yeah, Tony. Talk to you later. Miss you, too.”

The rest of the night goes on, and May prepares them all hot chocolate before she heads off upstairs to take a hot shower. The uneasiness never settled inside of him, a nemesis unwilling to leave him alone.

His heart thrums wildly in his chest, his hands shake and feel numb, and he wonders why .

Is it his body’s reaction to having to spend a few nights away from the city during their holiday trip, unable to patrol? Is it lingering stress from senior year, that he and May haven’t properly celebrated all of Hanukkah yet?

He must be incapable of relaxing, turning back to the couch where he’s curled up with 4 of his friends watching Home Alone 2.

“Hey, is anyone else’s toes feeling numb?” he turns to the group, watching them blearily blink at the TV from exhaustion.

“Your toes are numb ?” Flash asks from beside him on the floor, leaning against the couch with his head tilted to the side. He has no idea how that could be comfortable at all.

“Yeah, numb.”

He needed to keep talking to someone, hearing his friends talk, too. It might just be anxiety, or his PTSD symptoms bothering him. After Europe, the school forced everyone on the trip to attend at least one counseling session, and Murdock and Nelson had suggested the same when they took on the case early-autumn.

He wanted to take the advice, especially since it meant so much to May.

The cabin’s living room TV is quietly playing a documentary about the dangers of climate change and the remarkable effects the current generation will face when Peter’s jolted awake, his heart thudding in his chest and his alertness draws him from his sleep. He must’ve fallen asleep when he was in between MJ and Betty a couple of hours ago, he’s covered in a blanket and feels a pillow that wasn’t there before, supporting his neck- May’s doing- and it’s now when he realizes MJ isn’t beside him anymore, there’s too big of a gap on the couch.

He stills, not wanting to call out her name if she’s just using the bathroom or went back to her guestroom. Peter reaches his head over to check the time on the TV clock, and it’s nearing 2:30AM. The anxious feeling of danger looming in the distance, of now being watched returns and he needs to run some sort of perimeter check, maybe they have security--

“Peter!” he hears a distant shout from outside, a girl’s shout— and he immediately blanches. MJ .

His heart rate picks up, and he kicks the blanket off of him and stands. The snow is falling heavily outside, still, never seeming to let up and blocks out the nearby street lamps and backyard lamps. “MJ?!”

He turns to check if his whispering disturbed the others yet, but he decides he’ll go investigate first. He’s Spider-Man, he can head outside to check for her.

He turns to grab his oversized winter coat and his snow boots when he notices the backyard sliding door’s open— where he must’ve heard the scream from.

“Guys!” Peter shouts into the quiet living room, interrupting the warm peace from the TV playing and whatever phase of their sleep cycle there in. “Wake up! I think MJ”s outside!”

Peter runs out into the cold, a gust of wind hitting him immediately and causes his whole body to shiver while he shrugs his coat on for 25 centimeters of snow. It reaches his mid-calves and it seeps into his pants, each frozen entity stinging him and dragging him down into the ground while he runs— he doesn’t know where he’s running to, but his throat goes raw from screaming for MJ.

Frustrated none of his friends woke up in the wake of his own panic, his senses are screaming at him, danger, danger, danger , he’s too cold, his heart feels frozen. The low hum of his senses dial all the way to his limit. He screams and falls into a pile of snow on the ground, hiding himself from the danger that doesn’t seem to be there. Yet.

“MJ, where are you?” he screams, his mouth betraying him with the sound of wrecked sobs, desperacy ready to escape him, his eyes are wide and terrified. He gets back up, swaying on his own feet and he’s inhaling too many snowflakes, they’re everywhere.

He needs to find MJ, right now. She could be out here completely alone, but his senses won’t tell him where --

Before he can reach her piercing scream, the lamp post next to him flickers on, illuminated in green. His heart stops, and he feels the bile rising up inside of him.

No, no, no, no— not him, he’s supposed to be dead- wait, no, he’s supposed to be in prison—

Peter watches in pure anguish as the snow picks up, dangerous icicles falling from the lamp post and sky pierce his skin and he steps forward behind the shadows of the moonlight and snow, towering over him in his old suit he thought was destroyed. Was evidence, locked away to never be touched again.

Except it flickers away, into a cloud of smoke.

Maybe he’s hallucinating because he’s sick? He’s tired?

He has only gotten eight hours of sleep in the last three days, but what drove him so mad he came out here to the snow , the blizzard that seems to never let up-- the one that Mr. Stark mentioned-- is sending a small snowstorm to the boroughs of New York. Must be due to Global Warming.

The hum of a drone is loud, careening and he ducks his head before it strikes him, it nearly catches him and his breath won’t come out past the burning and aching in his throat.

Honestly, Peter assumed he’d be dead by now, no one telling him a word to protect him. Or, would it protect him even further to tell the truth that he is hidden away, rotting in a cell, truly plotting against him like Foggy Nelson said not to worry too much about.

“If you wanna save your city, you’re gonna need to come with me,” the familiar voice announces into the middle of the night, pushing him past his threshold of sanity and sends a wracking shiver down his spine and arms.

“I’m not really here, no, where would the fun in that be?” he replies smugly, probably watching from around the corner while Peter frantically runs back to the snow cabin to secure his family. “I need you to find me.”

He can only think about MJ, if this is an illusion she must be safe. What if he’s truly lying, crawling out of a grave somewhere in Manhattan where he was buried. Forgotten about. Rotting. For the last few months, he’s been here. Around every corner, lingering, falling behind every alleyway light to stay hidden. Quentin Beck has been the one watching him, it probably isn’t paranoid tendencies.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, get back inside NOW!” May shouts from behind him, his neck twisting to catch sight of her. His hands shake while he fishes somewhere in his pockets for his phone, hoping it didn’t get buried in the snow where he fell.

He feels heavy, like there’s two tons weighing over him and pulling him down into the ground even further, the slush eating away at his boots.

“May! Get away!” Peter shouts, his voice too raspy to be understood. “Find MJ inside!”

“Aw, Peter. Don’t worry about them, they’ll be safe right here, in the warm cabin under their warm blankets. Let’s hope the fireplace doesn’t catch anything around it, though,” Beck chuckles. “I think that’d be even enough for you getting me killed.”

“Killed? ” he exasperatedly asks, navigating his way back to the cabin and freezing in the dark. “You’re still alive. All of those people you killed in Europe are not .”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Beck says sharply, appearing right behind him. He can see him better this time, his hair is slightly grown out but gelled to the side. He’s wearing a black coat over this old shitty suit, completely concealed by his jacket. He clings to his helmet at his right side, Peter watches the inside fill up with snow.

Every miniscule detail, he can’t believe it. He can’t be here in front of him.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this. You know, I couldn’t wait any longer. You don’t deserve the title of Spider-Man, your big family. It was a big mistake letting them continue to believe Peter Parker is Spider-Man.”

“Because I will protect them. You can’t underestimate me, I got away from you last time. And now?” Peter steps towards Beck, going farther away from the snow cabin. “You can take me. Don’t you dare touch them.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Beck’s voice is layered in eagerness, like a child. “I’ll show you what I want and what I’m doing.

“And if you don’t? Millions  are going to pay for what you did. You know, that Jester King, Tony Stark, he really played me when he played dead for months. He did. He takes my holographic system, I take it back from him through you. You try to get me murdered, now I take away what you love most.

“What I want?” he says, finger tapping on his chin in amusement. “That’s bringing you down along with everyone you love. Excuse me, I mean, after I bring down everyone you love.”

Beck signals a drone over to him, smiling pointedly and gleefully as he waves a projection over, projecting New York City in a small screen in between them. There’s barely any snow covering the city like the forecasts predicted, and he swallows hard for what’s about to happen.

If he was capable of all the infrastructure damage to Europe, each disaster caused by G-ddamn drones, he’s capable of bringing down a few boroughs in New York City.

He stares at Beck, refusing to look down at the projection in front of him. At this point, his clothes clings to him and if he isn’t hypothermic, he thinks he will be soon. This isn’t part of his illusion tech, no. This time it’s real.

“Come on, Pete!” Beck yells cheerfully, nudging his shoulder roughly to turn back to the drone. “Where’s the fun in it if you don’t get to see what’s gonna happen, huh?”

He calculates his options, watching from his peripheral the snow attack the city. Shouts are emitted from the drone. “At least it’s not like Europe! I have no problem using more of my illusion tech here, but I’ve got a show waiting for you in Manhattan.”

Peter stares hard at the screen, anger and malice replacing every other feeling he’s felt up to now. He thinks back to his illusions and what he knows , he’s been sitting on top of every secret about him, hoarding them, using them to manipulate them before and knowing his secrets work against him.

“Here, I’ll take you there through one of my drones. So you’ll know what it’ll feel like to be on 85th when I destroy it.”

Peter’s hidden in plain view under a fire escape, it’s 2AM in the city, but he can hear all the people that are outside. Dogs being walked late at night, late-night epiphanies happening on fire escapes in the light snow, taxi-drivers in the middle of their shifts, the nearby hospital emergency room full of trauma cases from car accidents from the slippery snow. It’s the quietest he’s heard in New York, and he’s looking around and making sure nobody’s lurking around any corners. He needs to give Beck what he wants, and get out of here to get to the real New York.

“Beck, NO!” he hears Ned scream from above him, and he runs from under the coverage of the fire escape and into the middle of the grimey alleyway to see Ned tethering on the edge of the 30 meter building. “You can’t do this, it’s not fair!”

Beck appears behind Ned, and he panics in search of his web shooter attachments and comes up short. He’s still in his soaked clothes from the snow cabin. “Peter! You’ve gotta help m—”

Peter screams Ned’s name, crawling up the building as far as he can before he can leap out to catch Ned. He misses, and Ned collapses to the ground.

An illusion, this isn’t real, none of this is real. It’s not real. Not real.

He gasps and tumbles onto the ground, landing back at the snow cabin.

“Let’s play another one, you haven’t seen the best part!”

He’s standing on a highrise building, in his Spider-Man suit, and he knows it’s still an illusion. The snow is falling even heavier than it did at the snow cabin, but it’s covering pedestrians walking around late at night or very early in the morning. Random people still out eating, teenagers skipping curfew, people leaving their office jobs far too late deemed acceptable

The snow covers the cars , and he can hear emergency coverage playing on radios and TV’s while the city falls into a panic over Beck’s illusions. The snow is it’s true amount, but he’s redirecting it everywhere through the stupid drones. He’s playing an illusion on his city.

He hears a child scream out for Spider-Man’s help, his daddy’s stuck under a car and he won’t stop bleeding. He’s trapped on this high-rise beam, paralyzed by something. Why can’t he just leap down, shoot his webs, he can see all the coverage he has to get to. Now.

He gasps when he feels two hands on his back, shoving him forward in anger. He sees Flash, balancing with him on this yellow beam full of venom as he says, “This is all your fucking fault!’

He listens, watching with his jaw dropped because he’s too stupid to do anything else. He doesn’t have anywhere to run, he brings his hands to his ears and shuts his eyes tight, he’s guessing what Beck’s putting illusion-Flash up to. This seems too simple, but he doesn’t want to play his chances. He wishes his city could see him right now, he’s their beacon, they aren’t collectively helpless.

“I’m done, Beck!” Peter shouts over the whistling wind and heavy snow. “I’m not running. You don’t have to do this.”

Darkness falls around him, it covers him and the snow, and Beck’s gone. His body’s equilibrium is off from being out in this avalanche, the snow now nearly up to his waist is pure agonizing wetness. There’s no more Manhattan skylines, or a cityscape at all, no more traumatized Flash, only the cabin with the porch light on.

Peter turns on his heels, running through the thick snow, holding onto himself, and starts racing in the snow. He keeps his eyes wide open despite the snow seeping into his eyes, he’s gone, the paranoia died down, the feeling of being watched simmered away like a light burning out. His legs feel like two tons of steel are weighing them down, and launches himself inside the door to find May, Ned, Flash, and to see if MJ is here.

He can almost sense where things are, he scoops a pile of snow off of his face and litters it to the ground, shrugging his jacket off which might be his worst decision of the night, his eyes feel blindfolded by the sleet.

“May!” Peter yells, holding back a sob sitting in the back of his throat, his voice quivering. “P-please. Please tell me you’re okay.”

He picks his lead feet up, waiting for an answer. He can sense bodies nearby, so they're here in the perimeter, but his senses have gone haywire after his encounter with the drone and Beck. Whatever frequency and illusions he uses, he feels less keyed now and less like he’s going to wake up from this nightmare.

He feels real.

“Baby?” he hears May whisper at the top of the stairs, now noticing the upstairs light flickered on and illuminating the living room and the stairs. He’s sisyphus climbing the stairs, his own body betraying him, and this is his punishment. Too weak to move right now, too weak to go hug May. To go tell his friends everything’s gonna be okay.

“It- it was him, May. I saw him,” Peter whispers, elation and adrenaline still coursing through his body. “He’s alive, I mean you already knew that but-- May, he was here. I have to go.”

“Peter,” May says carefully, lifting her arm that was protectively holding Ned back. He’s crying in a steady stream watching them at the top of the stairs from the bottom, he’s his own impossible boulder. He can’t reach them. He can’t get to the top.

She’s careful in her tone. “Why did you go outside? What did you see?”

“May, you have to believe me. I need to go to Manhattan— I have to send Mr. Stark a message and you-- you guys need protection,” he rambles breathlessly, half of his words ununciated, “I can’t let you guys die.”

“Okay, Peter,” May confirms, and he’s never seen her look so sad. She’s covered in moonlight, she’s backlit by the upstairs light, but he can’t see her eyes clearly like he usually can. And, oh fuck, he thought this was real— “Name five things you can see right now. Just five.”

“I— May, no, I need your car keys. I need my suit,” he says, watching his friends faces fall and hears their heartbeats pick up. “And MJ, she’s okay? She was screaming, and--”

May sighs, resigning, and takes a few steps down the stairs to meet his eyes. “Baby, are you having an episode?”

“May, no!—“

“I can help. We can all help. Nobody’s judging you, I know you didn’t find the best coping mechanisms, but—“

“Call Tony. Please. For me.”

“Okay,” May says, running a hand through his soaked curls and he feels her shaking movements, and he gently catches her hand.

“I’m so sorry, I brought this here.” He glances up at his friends, watching their own storms on their own faces, the aching, the fear caused by him. Ned’s quietly crying now, keeping his face as stoic as he can.

“Go, Peter. I’ll set security up around the perimeter,” Ned whispers bravely, swallowing back tears. “Just.. Can you tell us what you saw outside?”

Peter’s mind instantly flashes back to Ned’s body on the pavement in the illusion, and swallows the bile back down but allows more tears to fall. “I— He made an illusion about MJ. About all of you. Everyone was inside except for her. He’s in New York. Just like Foggy said.”

He turns outside to face outside, and it’s nearly morning now. The sun hides far on the low horizon, not daring to rise yet but is still covered by snowfall.

May finally relented, grabbing her cellphone to get in touch with Mr. Stark and Nelson and Murdock. It was Claire who answered first, insisting she talk to Peter. Her worries over the phone brought a wave of nausea over him, she described New York right now. There’s hail and snow slides and blizzards which should be impossible in their terrain. Peter tore his clothes off and put his suit on, feeling idiotic for wearing a jacket over his spider suit. Ned sets up his own perimeter check, signaling and coding spider-drones to confirm the validity of Beck’s own drones and keep an eye out for unwanted visitors.

He web swings 100,000 meters back to the city, internally thanking May for convincing Mr. Stark to only send them into upstate New York, not too far out into the mountains and terrain.

For once, the Parker Luck might be working on his side once he thwips off of the Statue of Liberty and soars through air with his webs and wings, back out towards the nearest island’s edge. He promises himself to come out here more often, especially in the snow. Whatever New York borough Beck is in, he isn’t nearby Ellis island, and his senses continue to buzz.

New York’s loveable grizzled seen-too-much detective is back in his home city, and he web-swings across vast swaths of water into his city through the heavy snow.

Beck lied to him. He had trusted him. He destroyed his image, causing him to flee from his real life for months . He told him he was a disappointment, and his goodness was a weakness. He watches teenagers play in Washington Square Park, tourists crawling to the nearest safe spots, and ice skaters somehow skating this late at night/early in the morning.

He swings off of the nearest building, listening out for an intel on Beck and he races through Manhattan. It’s an obstacle course for Beck, but not for Peter.

He hears a nearby construction site and a low groaning, something not good. If he reaches these construction sites with free equipment lying around for him to use, he needs to stop him in time before doing anything too drastic. He’s hoping his setup is randomized drones, secured away from the population like in the terminal he last fought him in.

But he knows this is highly unlikely.

Spider-Man finds Beck easily, scanning the construction site for any heat signatures, easily finding him and the drones. How he wanted to be found, near the heart of Manhattan.

“I must be honest, I am so glad to see you again, Petey,” Beck says, voice distorted and warped while he slowly walks further into the construction site, mapping each drop to the floor below or opening above, and each window covered in tarp. “My abilities, my talent, they can’t be stolen from me again.”

Peter turns, scanning via his suit for any signs of Beck, but his ocular scans come back distorted and something lands in front of him, his senses screaming at him at the last possible second and he stumbles into the ground.

Beck’s voice disappears further into the building, and he tries to follow it. He veers left, in a crouch and stumbles into storage bins. “I’ve been waiting for this moment. Admittedly, not for too long, but long enough.”

Peter’s warped back into the city, green gases swirling in the air and black fog consuming the city. No matter how hard it is to stay grounded, he stumbles into the nearest buildings, cars, and people.

“It’s not real,” he whispers to himself, not quite believing it.

“It’s going to be a shame when many people here will have to die, with Spider-Man buried in the snow,” his voice rings to his right, then above him. He sees Beck walking in the shadows of the plot, he follows as closely behind as he can.

Beck disappears above him, and he launches webs onto the nearest pillar, beaming up to the next floor. He leads himself through a new haze of fog, it spans wide and far and out into the real city where real residents live. He runs down a narrow hall, turning a corner into a wider area and sees Beck leading himself outside. He’s a few stories up, and can see Beck standing one story up from the ground.

“Stark wanted to use me. He did use me. Now, your precious lawyers want to destroy my life,” Beck sounds echoey, and it’s freaking him out, because how far away is everybody? Does he need to contact anyone else, like the PD?

“And where were you, Peter?” Beck asks, voice rising and thunderous, “ Living lavishly, spoiled, wealthily like a trust fund kid.”

Spider-Man jumps another floor down, sending another array of webs around the pillars of the building. He placed webbing on all three floors, following Beck’s path back down into the city where the lights will go dark.

“You knew what you were in for, kid, yet you fled,” Beck says bitterly, and he watches the green mist form back around him in his signature suit and helmet. “You couldn’t save yourself, you’re a cancer spreading in this city.”

“You will be exiled for what you did to me, and there will be no return back this time. You will have nobody to save you from your own track record.”

He internally yells, finding another structure to throw his webs. He needs a netting for when the infrastructure falls, undoing Mysterio’s work.

It’s dark, snow flurries escape from outside the plot, and Peter stills once he sees a pile of dead bodies in front of him. He can’t see his city like this, he refuses to get to this aftermath. He turns and runs to a quick stop in front of Beck on the walkway outside.

“I will bring this entire city down, do NOT underestimate me!” Mysterio shouts into the sky, the snow falling heavier into the city illuminated by the glow of the pink sunrise. “Just watch me do it.”

“I won’t let you!” Spider-Man yells, attacking the first drone Mysterio sets in front of him. He casts his webs onto it, launching it into Mysterio. He hears yelps from below, hoping everyone takes the hint and leaves, no matter their commute.

“I said I WILL destroy your city,” Mysterio outcries, sending a thunderous wave of force into the ground, shaking the perimeter and the building’s core.

“ Uh-oh, ” he panics, flipping off the ground and avoiding the skittering and electrical impulses he sends waves of. He’s electrocuted, and he scrambles back far, watching big chunks of cement fall off of each floor's foundation, and he gasps as he tries to catch each piece before it lands onto the street below.

They’re on top of the high rise now, the top of U.N. headquarters, right at the edge. He gasps, watching the plot they were just in a few moments ago crumble to the ground. The screams from the street below ache his bones, and he’s too far away, no—

He’s right inside, but he can’t fucking see where he is, if he walks forward he’ll fall off the building, he’s sure of it. There aren’t any grips for his webs, and he shakes along with the front. There’s more cold wind, sending chills throughout his body. He sees May holding onto the edge of the building, he recognizes her rings. Her fingers desperately cling for life, her blood curdling screams rush into his ears. Everything below them is so small, and he steps closer to the edge of the building where the snow drifts down below them.

This isn’t real.

Beck is playing him, again, and he’s somehow winning right now. He sucks a breath in through his nose, shuts his eyes, and remembers the fate of New York is in his hands. It’s out of Tony’s, out of the PD’s, out of everyone else’s hands but his. It’s his uphill battle, and he hopes the boulder doesn’t fall over the edge.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he aims his arms nefariously to catch each boulder, hears each gust of wind and each terrifying pull of gravity giving the boulder more energy, and he strikes each boulder to stop from collapsing the building.

Mysterio’s making him vulnerable again, and the curtain’s close in front of him. He sprints into the dark before anything can appear, thwipping his webs out into the Manhattan buildings now that the construction site is taken care of.

He listens out for Beck, listening to the buzzing carrying him away in real life, making the city more vulnerable the further he goes.

May is counting on him. She was certain he was having a paranoid episode, and it probably contributed to what he saw, but they’re counting on him. The real Mysterio is right here, heart drumming wildly from his adrenaline. He has no room for error again/

He ignores an incoming phone call from Matt in his mask, catching up to Mysterio transporting to below the Chrysler building. He thrusts his entire body into the velocity of his webs, falling dangerously slow to the ground and ascends straight into the heavy snow.

Spider-Man catches up to Beck on a new rooftop, taking a giant leap off of the Chrysler building to the supporting one below. He glides, landing on the rooftop. He’ll never be tired of the feeling of falling, the snow emulating the act even more and he moves faster.

He runs into him from above, tackling Mysterio to the ground.

Mysterio’s upgraded tech clatters across the ground, and the storm does not clear at all. None of the hail stops, the buildings shake in anticipation for a disastrous fall. Peter sees stars when he swings his arm back, landing a punch on him and immediately getting striked in the head by a drone.

Beck grabs Peter by the neck, using his size on him to slam his head back into the brick wall of the building. He kicks himself off the wall, tackling him and hits him. He strikes, producing red, blue, and purple contusions that the snow can’t cover now. He attempts to yank his helmet off to strike more skin, avoiding drone strikes surrounding him.

“She’s ready!” Mysterio shouts, shoving Spider-Man off and he’s too frozen to strike any of the drones now in formation, in an arrow.

Like a deck of cards shuffling, he watches a new scene in front of him, where his webbing failed and crushed a few dozen meters of buildings crushed under rubble, dust and snow swirling in the sky while the city bursts into haunting tears.

Spider-Man quickly recovers, shaking under his webbing that attaches to the drones, flying at full force. He tries to web them all up, but they relentlessly demolish and set flame to each high-rise nearby. He watches the city crumble, the tarmac of the streets withering under destruction, and he watches helpless people fall into these abysses along with cars and tons of snow, and he tugs on his webs.

“S..See, I was ri—ght, I will kill everyone you love— we will be back.”

He stops one drone, but halts to a stop when the drones crash into another building. He hooks Beck’s suit into a drone, finally having the upperhand and more leverage on the older man. He uses his free hand to grab the helmet, slamming his face into the drone repeatedly, watching the glass break and shatter, cutting him up.

Peter continues to land blows to the face, red blooming and turning to blues and purples around his face. His nose is bloodied, his mouth is ripped apart, and glass shards cut him further. He hopes his head slumps forward, watching an avalanche in the distance makes it way towards fucking Manhattan. His own chest flickers in pain, and he looks down to see the suit torn in half at his chest to reveal a pool of blood thickening. He checks to see if Beck is unconscious, they can hardly hold onto the crashing drones in flight.

He presses the controls, any, hoping to override his coding and deactivate them. This is all too familiar, he must be behind him, waiting. He’s hauled through the sky, grazed against each apartment complex and school and office buildings. He’s woozy, spinning in the air at a high velocity and they begin to crash head-on into FEAST, and his heart lurches.

He sees black.

He’s buried deep in the snow, searching for a pocket of air to breathe through and begin digging from. He can’t feel his hands, but he blindly flops around, trying his hardest to hold his screaming back and failing. His suit is soaked through, offline, and the seams tore and burned his skin with pure frozen snow.

He gasped, not remembering if Matt called back or not, did he ever answer the call? Was the call an illusion? He hears more blood curdling screams surrounding him, and this is real. Not an illusion. Real, real, or.. Fake?

He screams into the dark, the irony of the white-reflecing snow drenching him in blackness. Pounding fear in his body, his veins giving up on him, his cells killing him. Frozen. Only fear courses through each neuron and each cell.

Not knowing if Beck destroyed his city, his family—

He needs out, maybe this is an illusion. Is he back to a few months ago, not believing anything is real? He didn’t see Beck, but he heard him, he should be dead from those drones.

He stares into the finally relenting sky, wondering if he escaped his sisyphus destiny. His vision falls into another illusion, everything’s black, but no this is real, he’s real. He succumbs to exhaustion instead.

His body feels too heavy, he slumps down weakly and lies on his left side.

“I just said, found him outside of FEAST--”

“And what the hell were you doing there?--”

“Does it matter? I called him, he ignored me, and we knew the consequences when we agreed to take on this case--”

“Matt, it’s alright. Foggy, take a breath. You both handled it well.”

He’s in a car. The low hum soothes his aching body and it smells like clorox and blood in here.

“He lost a lot of blood on the scene, he’s hypothermic, for hell’s sake! Do not antagonize me right now.--”

“—We’re not!—“

“He’s a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. Matt, this is extraordinarily worse than when I found you half dead on your couch, already writing your eulogy because I didn’t think I could save you. You were doing it all alone, and I—“

He hears cloth moving around, probably a hand rubbing their back.

“We have it handled.”

“What do you mean handled?! You mean a just as self-sacrificial vigilante clad in red that’s a total maniac? Possible psychopath mercenary? With pool in their name?!”

“Foggy, calm down before your artery bursts.”

Pans clattering and humans talking around him awoke him, and he could’ve sworn he was just at Nelson and Murdock’s law firm in search of a first-aid kit. The talking is what he becomes most aware of when he returns slowly to consciousness, able to feel his limbs.

“Hmfh,” he hums, burying himself further into the warmer clothing he’s wearing and the familiar Hello Kitty blanket a 6 year old he knows owns. The pillows feel like homes, though.

“Welcome back, walking dead,” Tony greets, waving someone over from beside him. He’s walking in from around the corner where the kitchen is, a familiar smell of his favorite chocolate babka simmering through the air. Tony sits down beside him, feeling the couch cushion sink down. He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his shoulder and sighing. Peter props himself up on one elbow, his smile returning when he sees May run into the room and tackle him into the couch cushions with a hug.

“I’m so sorry for not believing you, honey,” May tears up, pulling back to take a closer look at him. He’s hyper aware of his surroundings, his memories slowly fade back in. He sees the confusion run across her face, and she makes no move to bring it up. “You did so good.”

The next few days result in the same ways. He’s bedbound for now, receiving updates by his own lawyers that the city isn’t suing him for damages this time and that local vigilantes and authorities are cleaning up the city. He was an open book to his family and friends, splayed out for all of them to pick, poke, and prod at.

Even with the best intentions, they were overbearing.

He spent most of his newfound freetime continuing his part-time jobs. His photography job at the Daily Bugle is allowing him, graciously, to write articles in the meantime he’s out of photo-commission. He picked up writing articles for Nelson and Murdock, who were still a mess.

He and May both had many emotions over this, what this meant for his recovery, and how he won’t put his recovery on the back-burner.

They all avoid talking about him. Where he is, what happened. News articles never seem to reach him.

Closer to Christmas during the time his friends celebrated, he can’t help but feel isolated and the paranoia coils through him once again. He needs to begin recovery slowly, because he can’t handle being separated from Tony, Pepper, and Morgan currently, and especially May when she leaves for work or to pick up groceries.

Despite receiving a scholarship to MIT, all of his trauma probably counts out any chance of college anytime soon. He doubts he can go back to being a normal person, preparing every possible scenario for when he returns, and he feels like begging on his knees for help. He and May pass more time saving up for tuition money, just in case.

He’s safe now. He’s home. He waits for the other shoe to drop. For the boulder to fall off the top of the cliff.

[jeranasblog]

You can talk to me about anything

Summary: Peter asks Tony to fulfill one of his fantasies. 

Rating: E

Notes:  This story is my 10th @starkercestevent​ contribution. Kink for the 10th story: Role Play. Click here for the Bingo Masterlist.

Warnings: Adoptive Father/Adoptive Son, don’t like it, don’t read it

Read on Ao3

Peter was thinking about it for months, even before he had done anything with his Daddy. 

 Everything started when Tony was on a business trip in Europe, presenting the latest tech of Stark Industries and the house was empty for the entire weekend. Peter, who had still been pinning for his Daddy back then, looked forward to having the apartment all for himself, not to throw a party but to get off without being afraid to cry his Daddy’s name out loud for once. He tended to become so riled up close to his climax, that he frequently had to muffle the begging for his Daddy in a pillow and he was afraid his Daddy would find out one day. 

 So Peter hardly imagine anything better than jerking off in peace, maybe even using his favorite vibrator that was too loud to switch on when his Daddy was home. He opened the porn site he always visited, one hand already shoved into his boxers, looking for the ‘Daddy porn’ section he was familiar with by now. 

 The first video was short, about ten minutes long and only helped to bring him to orgasm once. His arousal had built up over months. Months of hidden jerk off sessions and quick fingering when his Daddy was still at work, therefore Peter decided to drag it out this day, coming at least twice in the evening. 

 His mind already foggy with pleasure, Peter didn’t read the headlines anymore and suddenly, he found himself watching roleplay porn the entire evening. Car drivers getting fucked by bulky police officers, little twinks bouncing on their teacher’s lap, and patients taking everything up their ass for their doctors. Ashamed, Peter started to realize that he not only wanted to get fucked by his adoptive father, no, he also wanted to pretend to be someone else sometimes. 

 The thought never let go of him, not even when his secret was finally disclosed by his Daddy. In all these months, his mind had traveled back, and since Tony and he stayed home a lot because of Pierce anyway, Peter gave it a shot. He used all his courage and decided to confront his Daddy with his request on a Sunday morning. 

 “Daddy?” He was nervous, fumbling with the sleeves of his oversized sweater and unconsciously biting his lips. Usually, his Daddy initiated new things in the bedroom, Peter had never come up with an idea before, but he was finally feeling secure in their relationship. Tony wouldn’t leave him, he would protect and cherish him, even if he wouldn’t like his idea. 

 The Alpha was sitting on the couch in the living room, skimming through the economy section of the newspaper. He wore his reading glasses and comfy pants, but he was still radiating confidence. When Peter entered the room, he raised his head, looking at him expectantly and waiting for the Omega to speak. 

 Peter couldn’t look him in the eyes, his gaze fixed on the floor. In his head, approaching the Alpha had been easy, but as soon as he really had to talk about his fantasy, the courage was leaving him. Tony seemed to sense his struggle. 

 “Baby, come here,” he put the newspaper aside and gestured the Omega to take a seat on his lap. Without a doubt, Peter followed the command and snuggled close to the Alpha’s chest. His scent was calming, lulling Peter in a feeling of being home and before he could change his opinion, he blurted out his thoughts. 

 “Iwannatalkaboutafantasy.” 

  After his words, he hid his face against his Daddy’s chest. He was blushing furiously, but at the same time he was relieved he got the sentence out at all. Tony stroked his back and pressed soft kisses on his forehead. 

 “Don’t be afraid, baby. You can talk with me about anything you wanna try. The worst that could happen is me telling you I don’t like it, but I promise, I won’t laugh, and I won’t judge you for it. Just give it a try.”

 Peter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and gathered all his courage together. “I want you to fuck me as someone else.”

 After the conversation with his Daddy, a few days passed. Tony had been willing to try, had even loved the ideas Peter had. He had been proud of him to talk about his fantasies, to ask for things he wanted, especially because Peter was usually pretty shy. However, the Alpha hadn’t made any attempts to initiate roleplay between them, so after a few days, the thoughts faded into the back of his mind. 

 Peter was busy anyway, working on a project for one of his classes. He was supposed to build a robot and it should have been easy, but he had made one mistake in his programing code and wasn’t able to find it. Over hours and hours, frustration was building inside of him until he finally gave up and asked his Daddy for help. 

 “How can I help you, Peter?” Although his Daddy rarely called him ‘Peter’, he didn’t suspect anything yet, too frustrated from not finding the mistake. 

 “I just can’t find the fucking mistake,” he ran his fingers through his hair until he looked wrecked, his lips swollen from how often he had bitten on them. This shit was driving him crazy and he definitely needed a break. 

 Tony, however, didn’t react like Peter expected him to. “Language.”

 The Omega couldn’t stop himself from looking up stunned. Usually, his Daddy didn’t mind him cursing, even encouraged him from letting his feelings out, but today he scolded him for his language? However, one gaze at his Daddy’s face was enough for him to understand what was going on.

 He knew his Alpha so well by now he could read every single sign of arousal and seeing his dilated pupils and his hungry gaze made it obvious for him where they were heading. In an instant, his mood changed from frustrated to playful.

 “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he lowered his gaze bashfully. “I forgot my manners for a second.”

 “It’s all right, Peter,” Tony’s chuckle was dark, promising the things he would do to him and Peter trembled under his voice. Anticipation was filling him, lightening every cell of his body and making him squirm in delight. “Now tell me what the problem is.”

 “Every time I turn on the robot, the program crashes after a few seconds. There must be an error in the code, but I can’t seem to find it.” He tried his best to sound innocent and he looked pleadingly at Tony with wide eyes. 

 His Daddy’s gaze turned predatory, and he smirked as he leaned forward. One hand was propped on the back of Peter’s chair while the other one was resting on his thigh, a little too high to be considered appropriate. Tony pretended to look on the screen of the computer, his face close to Peter’s neck and he could feel his Daddy’s breath grazing his skin.

 Peter wanted to throw his head back, wanted to offer it to his Daddy. Tension was building between them and slowly the Omega felt himself getting wet. The scent of his arousal must have filled the room by now, but his Daddy didn’t react besides a subtle stumble in his breath. Peter was fighting against himself, fighting to remain in his role. He wanted this, he wanted to try it out, so there was no way he would ruin this with his neediness. 

 “M-Mr. Stark, t-that’s inappropriate,” his voice was trembling, not from outrage but arousal. 

 “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t pay attention.” Tony sounded truly apologetic, but he didn’t take away his hand. Instead, he started to draw circles on Peter’s thigh, his hand wandering higher and higher until he was almost touching his cock. Peter couldn’t stop the moan that slipped past his lips. Acting horrified, he slapped his hand over his mouth, even though it had been too late anyway. Tony’s smirked made it crystal clear that he had heard his noise. 

 “I need some time to find the mistake, Peter,” his Daddy said smugly. “Scoot over, let me have a closer look at the screen.” 

 Peter obeyed hurryingly, standing up to offer him the chair, but before he could even take a step aside, the Alpha had sat down and pulled him onto his lap, back to chest. He could feel the huge bulk pressed against his ass, could feel that the drenched fabric of his pants was rubbing all over Tony’s crotch. For a second, his eyes fluttered close in arousal, his hips moving once and twice, creating delicious friction against his covered hole before he caught himself and reminded him what this was about. 

 “M-Mr. Stark, you can’t just…, it’s not proper, I…”

 “Shh.” This time, Tony’s voice wasn’t teasing anymore but filled with Alpha command. “Be quiet, Peter and stop wiggling, I can’t find the mistake when you act like a needy bitch. Better be glad if I still give you a good grade, even though you need my help with your project.”

 Humiliation was crashing through his body, making his insides tingle with pleasure. Slick was gushing out of him in waves, clouding the air with the sweet scent and he had to fight every urge inside of him to stop himself from moving. Just the imagination that Tony was his professor, using his authority to force the Omega onto his lap, was enough for him to see stars. 

 Tony continued staring at the screen, searching for the mistake in Peter’s code. His focus wasn’t on Peter and the thought made him even hotter. Slowly, his thighs started to tremble under the strain of staying still and when Tony’s finger found one of his nipples, he moaned like a whore for the first time. 

 Suddenly, the focus of the Alpha was back on him again. “Peter, you should be ashamed of yourself,” the disappointed felt almost real. “I try to help you and you act like a needy bitch, getting your slick all over me. At least get off your pants, they are drenched and filthy.”

 The words were the last straw and he started to move his hips again. Being accused of acting slutty, even though his Daddy had pulled him onto his lap, was enough to make his hole clench, to make him shiver with arousal. He knew he was easy for the Alpha, and if his Daddy had been his professor, he probably wouldn’t have been able to stay away from him as well, the attraction between them too intense. 

 A loud smack on his ass made him jump, the slight pain mixing with his arousal. “I said take off your pants. Do I have to repeat myself? Don’t you want a good grade anymore?”

 Oh, god. Peter moaned and scrambled off his Daddy’s lap, pulling down his trousers and his panties until he could finally feel the air against his dripping hole. Everything was turning him on, and before he could think twice, he was back on Tony’s lap, rubbing himself all over the Alpha’s trousers. 

 Tony growled in pretended anger. “What do you think you're doing here? Isn’t it already enough that you are a needy mess, now you ruin my pants as well?” He received a second smack on his naked ass and his eyes rolled back from the delicious pain. 

 “I’m so so sorry, Mr. Stark.” Peter looked at him with watering eyes, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. “I didn’t want it, I swear. Please don’t let me fail this class.”

 The words coaxed the first purr of the evening out of his Daddy. “I forgive you, one last time, but only if you’re good for me. Come on, get me out of my ruined pants, show me how sorry you are.” Eagerly, Peter dashed forward, opening his pants and pulling them down with his boxers. His Daddy’s thick cock was finally free, leaking furiously and Peter wanted nothing more than to choke on it.

 “Make yourself useful, boy.” Tony gestured him to sit between his spread legs, his cock twitching in anticipation of the wet heat of Peter’s mouth, but the Omega lowered his gaze ashamed. 

 “M-Mr. Stark, I can’t. It’s inappropriate.”

 The words made the Alpha growl furiously and he grabbed Peter’s neck, forcing him to his knees and pressed his cock into his mouth without giving him time to get used to it. “Slowly, I start to think you don’t want to pass this class,” he growled while Peter was gagging around his thick cock. “I asked you to make yourself useful and I don’t want to repeat myself.” 

 With a high-pitched whimper, Peter started to work, bobbing his head up and down and savoring his Daddy on his tongue. He trailed patterns all over the hard shaft, sucking every drop of precome up like it was water in the desert. He hummed around it, forcing himself to take more of his Daddy, to take him deeper and there was no way in hell he could pretend he didn’t like doing this. 

 “Look at you, little slut,” Tony’s voice was hoarse. “Acting like a prude although you want nothing more than getting stuffed by your professor. Are you that eager for me? Whoring yourself out to get a good grade?”

 Peter pinched his eyes shut, counting in his head from one to ten. He was so close, way too close given that nothing had touched his hole or his cock, not even his own hands. He had never been so turned on before, wanting to sit between Tony’s spread legs forever. 

 Time lost its meaning with his Daddy’s cock inside of his mouth, it blurred together, left him feeling floaty and content. Everything that mattered was his Daddy, his taste, his scent, his everything, and Peter lost himself in the feeling of his Daddy on his tongue. He felt so filthy, so humiliated, and the shame was fueling the fire inside of him. 

 When Tony eventually pulled back his head, Peter whined in distress. “Don’t act up, you little slut. Sit on my cock while I show you the mistake you made.”

 “Yes Mr. Stark,” his voice was raspy, his throat sore from his Daddy’s thick length, but it didn’t matter to him, made him feel like a good boy instead. His legs wobbled when he got up and the Alpha didn’t help him but watched him struggle for balance. Finally, he seated himself on his Daddy’s lap, Tony’s tip nudging against his hole.

 “You forgot one character. Do you see it?” The Alpha was pointing at the screen, showing him the mistake Peter had made, but the Omega was too far gone to even focus on his code. Everything he could concentrate on was the leaking cock against his hole, spurting precome all over his thighs while new slick was making him messy. 

 He knew it was a mistake, new it didn’t suit the role he played, but he pushed his hips back, impaling himself on his Daddy in one stroke. They moaned in unison. The fit was tight, tighter than usual. Peter rarely took his Daddy’s cock without prep outside his heat, and it was burning, hurting even, but he loved it still. He would be sore tomorrow, maybe not even able to sit and the thought made his insides clench in arousal, gripping his Daddy’s cock even tighter. 

 “God, you are a slut,” Tony tried to sound mean, humiliating, but Peter could still hear a hint of affection laying underneath. “Look at you, I’m not even asking you, but you still fuck yourself on me as if you would die without a proper cock inside of you. Think you might pass if you just act slutty enough?”

 Peter could only moan in return. He was so thankful, thankful for his Daddy’s love, for his cock, and especially thankful that he did this for him. His Daddy length was filling him deliciously, pressing against all the right spots, and assaulting his prostate. Nothing would ever feel as good as sitting on the Alpha’s cock. 

 “Let’s make a deal, Peter. When you make me come without coming yourself before, I let you pass. Let me see how badly you want it, show me how important it is to you.”

 Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He started to move his hips, dragging himself up and down, bouncing on his Daddy’s cock. His own cock was leaking precome as well, still untouched and it swayed with every thrust on his hips. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the urge to touch himself, to come on his Daddy’s cock, but once he would touch his erection, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. So he kept his hands to himself, clenched them to fists, and tried his best not to move them. 

 “So tight on my cock, like a virgin. Tell me, boy. Am I the first one fucking your slutty hole? Would you do anything for a good grade?”

 “Yes, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s answer was a breathless cry, his entire body straining from his movements. He lost himself in the fantasy, eagerly bouncing on Tony’s cock to improve his grade. He could feel every bump in his Daddy’s cock, every inch splitting him open and he knew he was close. If he didn’t up the game now, he would come before his Daddy.

 “Mr. Stark,” his voice was wrecked from arousal. “Please, let me pass, please, I’ll do anything, I swear.”

 He got a roar in return. “Aren’t you already doing everything, slut? You are already bouncing on my cock, already crying for me to fill you. What could you still offer to convince me?”

 The question was an easy one but stuffed to the brim, Peter found it hard to think. His legs were trembling, slick leaking out of him and the room was filled with little gasps and whimpers. He propped his arms on the table, the computer screen in front of him long forgotten, moving his hips desperately while he did his best to think about a good answer. 

 “I’ll come to your office twice a week after classes. Let you stuff me full again and again. I won’t tell anyone, just please let me pass, please fuck me, Mr. Stark.”

 Although the pleasure was taking a toll on him as well, Tony pretended to ponder, his eyes fixed on Peter in hunger. He watched his cock disappearing again and again in Peter’s hole, glistening from his slick that was spread everywhere. 

 “All right, boy,” he finally gave in, his hips thrusting up and meeting Peter halfway. “We have a deal. You let me fuck you twice a week and I let a dumb slut pass the class.”

 The words were too much, Peter felt could feel how his walls started to clench rhythmically, trying to milk his Daddy. He was sweating, his entire body shivering in arousal and there was no chance to hold back much longer. Before he would completely lose himself, Peter tried for the last time. 

 “I’ll be your slut, your slave, I promise. I’ll do anything you want. You can mark me, you can breed me, you can show everyone how easy I am for you, how pathetic. Please, come for me Mr. Stark. Fill me up.” The words seemed to hit just right. The moment he felt the heat exploding inside of him, Tony started coming as well, his tip pressed snugly against his prostate. 

 Come after come was filling him, stuffing and marking him, while Peter was falling apart. The movement of his hips stopped, he couldn’t lift his body anymore but thankfully Tony was grinding into him, working his knot into Peter’s body. The orgasm was taking him apart in waves and it didn’t stop, the assault of his prostate making it impossible for him to come down. 

 In contrast to Alpha’s bodies, Omegas weren’t made to come for minutes, but his Daddy was milking spurt after spurt from his cock anyway. The sensations didn’t stop, wrecking him and grabbing him tightly, until his vision started to blur and his body couldn’t do more than twitch weakly. 

 He didn’t pass out this time, trapped on the Alpha’s cock, and pressed against his chest, but he was close. He didn’t want to surrender to the sweet darkness, wanted to tell his Daddy how thankful he was, how good the Alpha had been for him. 

 The knot was catching on his rim, plugging him up with a huge load of come and his own slick. Peter slumped against his Daddy, his entire body going limp from overstimulation and a dopily grin spread on his face when he felt that Tony still hasn’t stopped coming. 

 “Thank you, Daddy. You were amazing.”

 The Alpha purred, content to knot his Omega and he pressed kisses against Peter’s temple. “You were amazing as well, baby. So good for me. I love that you told me what you like, I love that you’re getting comfortable around me.”

 Peter smiled sweetly, turned his head, and pressed his lips lightly against the Alpha’s. The kiss was chaste, sweet, a reminder of how much they meant to each other. 

 “I love you, Daddy.” He earned another kiss and snuggled closer against Tony’s chest. 

 “I love you, too, baby.” Everything was perfect. “By the way, I actually found the mistake.” Peter started to laugh.

[twokinkybeans]

The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [Starker] - Chapter 4: COFFEE CONFUSION

READ “CHAPTER 4: COFFEE CONFUSION” ON AO3

Find the masterpost with all the chapters linked here!

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth​​ & @staticwhispersinthedark​​ (Let me know if you want to be added!)

-

Chapter 4: Coffee Confusion

“Goodmorning to our new rock star!” Peter groans when May flips the light switch. The brightness stings his eyes and he grabs the blankets to cover his face. “Morning,” he says groggily. He doesn’t want to leave his aunt standing there so he lowers the sheets after all and peeks at her. “Hi.” “Scoot over,” she orders him. “You gotta tell me everything.” Peter does as she asks and moves a little closer to the wall to create space for her.

May had been very upset that she wouldn’t be able to attend the show. She’d already signed up to help out in the local homeless shelter on New Year’s Eve. As much as she hated that she'd miss Peter's first big set, she couldn’t bail on that. “Well?” She asks, her eyes shimmering with pride. Peter chuckles and enthusiastically tells her all the juicy details. About the huge stage, great crowd and how he still feels that none of it is real. He drops a quick remark about Tony too, but he doesn’t want to spend too much attention talking about the man. Tony's simply not worth it.  “...And we stayed for three more hours having a good time with some crew members. Gosh, May, it’s been… I don’t even know how to describe it!” He chuckles in amazement. “It’s insane, like, what even?!" “I’m so, so proud of you Peter,” May says quietly and leans in for a tight hug. “Alsooo, did you know you made the news?” “What?!” “The reviews about the show are off the charts! And The Arachnoids are mentioned more than once, here lemme show you.” 

Peter turns to sit upright and he stares at May’s phone to read the article she’s talking about. His eyes widen at seeing the headline.

The Arachnoids: Will these talented youngsters make it to The Avengers’ World Tour?

Peter huffs. “As if! There are way more qualified bands than us.” “Yet they asked you for this show.” “Mh,” Peter responds, his lips pressing together. It’s slowly starting to be a little overwhelming. The attention, the praise, the success. When they started The Arachnoids for a high school project four years ago they never thought any of this was possible. “We’ll see,” he says eventually. May nods understandingly and ruffles through his hair. 

“If you go see your friends today, could you maybe hop by the shelter? I forgot my bag there last night.” “Of course,” Peter smiles. “Thank you. You hungry? I made breakfast!” Peter frowns. “What did you make?” “Oh, don’t be so suspicious. I know how to make waffles, thank you very much."

Peter chuckles.

-

“Peter! Hi!”  Peter waves at his friends and walks over to the small table they're seated at. He takes off his thick coat, carefully draping it on the backrest of the chair. He slumps into the seat. “So, how are my famous friends, mh?” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. MJ laughs and shoves an extra large caramel latte his way. “Not that famous, no one in the shop knows who we are.” “Except for Brad, of course,” Ned chuckles and waves at the barista. Brad’s face lights up and he nods his head at them. MJ shrinks in her seat.

“Hey, you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” she murmurs. Peter sighs and puts his hand on top of hers. She looks up. “Em, we can find a different coffee shop if you want.” “Yes,” Ned joins in. “I’m sorry- For a second I forgot about… Y’know. I’m sorry MJ.”

The girl shakes her head and presses her lips together. Her eyes clearly show that Brad is still a sore spot for her. “No, I’m alright. Really. I don’t want to change my life just because of the breakup. I like this place, and if he’s a part of it… So be it. Can we, uhm, talk about something else?” 

Instantly, Ned starts rambling on about this new Netflix series he and MJ are both watching and Peter smiles. Ned is sweet, knowing exactly what to say to distract her. Peter still feels bad for their friend. MJ and Brad made a cute couple. She'd told Brad that she’s demisexual and how she needed more time to figure out her feelings for him. Just as she started to realize that maybe she did like him like that; he got impatient and left.

It’s been nearly a year now, but it’s clear it still hurts her. Peter wishes he could do something to take her sadness and insecurities away. She’s so scared to meet someone new- scared they might dismiss her for her sexuality as well. That’s why he’d been so thrilled to see her interact with Harley last night. Of course, she doesn’t know the roadie even a tiny bit so any attraction is out of the question. It’s a step in the right direction, though. “Peter, have you started watching it yet?”  “No, not yet, I-”

MJ’s phone buzzes and she frowns.  “I’m sorry, let me check real quick.” She opens the message and Peter cocks his head curiously. She never checks on her messages in the midst of a conversation. MJ giggles and quickly starts typing back, shaking her head lightly. After she sends her message, she puts her phone down and eyes the boys. “What?” “You know what!” Ned teases. “Do tell?” “Guys! It’s just- It’s just, uhm, Harley? He sent us a couple of pictures from our show last night. Didn’t you get them?” Peter forces himself to not smile too broadly.  “I didn’t check yet.” “Me neither,” Ned adds. “Can we see them?” He reaches for her phone, but MJ quickly puts her hand over it, sliding it towards herself. She smiles at them sheepishly, knowing damn well they aren’t stupid.

“It’s nothing,” she stresses. “I swear. Y’know I don’t… Yeah. He wanted my number just in case. He's actually in a discussion with the managers now, lobbying for our band to be the support act on their new world tour.”

“World tour? Wait, so, the press wasn’t just saying things?” Peter is so confused right now. “Does Harley think we’re that good?” “Not just Harley, Pete. Everyone loved us.” “Except for Stark,” Ned scoffs. “He'll die of a heart attack if we join them.” “He hates everyone so I don’t think it matters that much who the support act is,” MJ sighs. Peter swallows, thinking back on his short talk with the man yesterday.

“He… He likes us though. He, eh, told me.” “He what?” “Peter! What happened?!” Peter sighs and wraps his hands around his large coffee mug. He shakes his head. “Honestly, not that much. When I went to get the van I ran into him outside. He… Said we’re unique and that he was having a shitty day. After that he went all asshole again, but… I dunno. I think there’s more to his behavior than we thought.”

MJ and Ned are quiet for a good second and Peter takes the opportunity to finally sip from his drink. The sweet and bitter mixture fills his mouth and he hums quietly to himself. This will forever be his favorite drink.  “Most assholes are assholes for a reason,” Ned finally adds to it. “But it doesn’t make them any less shitty.” “Oh no, for sure,” Peter agrees. “I told him he should get himself sorted out.” MJ laughs and pats him on his back. Peter grins proudly.

Just when he wants to take another sip from his drink, MJ’s phone buzzes again. She stoically ignores it, clearly trying to evade more teasing. Peter cocks an eyebrow at her. “You can look, don’t worry. We were joking, but we'd never judge you, I promise. Harley’s nice and it’s sweet that he wants to help us.”  “Exactly,” Ned smiles. “You know we love you. Completely.” MJ casts her eyes down, but she can’t hide the happy, yet fragile smile on her face. Peter hates how her sexuality makes her question herself so often. He makes a mental note to not tease her about Harley anymore. Not until she brings it up again.

Slowly she takes her phone and reads the message she received. MJ gasps, eyes widening.  “Holy shit, I’m-” This time, she shoves her phone toward the middle of the table. Peter and Ned immediately lean forward to read whatever is on there.

Good news!!!😱😱 I talked to Happy & Bruce and they’re gonna contact you, possibly tonight!! Ofc, nothing’s set yet, but they're super excited! If you wanna rock the world girl, take this chance! 💫🥁🎸

Peter leans back against his chair, utterly dumbfounded. Until yesterday, they never even played for more than 400 people at once. Now they're invited for a world tour, in front of huge crowds. He bites onto his lower lip. “I-I’m gonna have to discuss this with May,” he whispers quietly. “Do you… Do you guys want to do this? If we get the chance?”

“I think we all need to think about this,” Ned mumbles. “My first reaction is yes, of course! But God, I’m absolutely terrified.” “Yeah,” MJ sighs. “It’s a lot. What if we go home, think about it, and meet each other at my place for dinner?” “I think that’s a good idea,” Peter breathes and he looks into his cup. The brown liquid is no longer steaming. He brings the mug towards his lips and chugs it down in one go.

He’s got some thinking to do.

-

Read the next chapter >> 5: Denmark Daydream

[kidney9-9]

I’m feeling fluffy, what about Bucky x young daughter!reader and avengers x Barnes!reader, where she plays with her Lego and Pokemon figures and leaves them around the compound all the time and just short compilations of when he and the rest of the team step on them and try not to swear around her as it hurts so much? Sorry if you don’t understand what I’m trying to get at!

hi anon! hope you enjoy! this is actually a short funny story- but i had no idea what Pokémon was till two years ago, still need to learn more about it though. Also, I only included a few of the people on the team! Thank you for sending this in :) (Bucky, Steve, Sam, Natasha and Tony)

I wrote this in a slightly different way, as I separated the character’s experiences!

Masterlist  

Avengers x Bucky’s daughter!Reader  (Age set maybe around 5/6) (Platonic)   Warnings: cursing Word Count: 1k

Bucky Barnes:

You were his daughter, and he loved you. But fuck, when you left your Legos and Pokémon stuff out, he felt cursed by them. He can’t even tell how many times he’s stepped on Legos, but each time they were such a pain, and he could barely stand it.

It became more of a joke around the Compound with your toys laid on the floor in very random places. They’d be in storage rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, everywhere you would think you were safe.

Today Bucky took you to the indoor pool. It was a lazy day, but he thought relaxing by the pool would be fun. He still needed to teach you some swimming tricks. As he set down your floats, you jumped into the pool, giggling and shouting from the coldness.

“Hey dad!” You yelled out, watching as he turned to you, stepping forward. Your eyes widened as you watched the scene in slow motion. Your dad stepped onto the Pokémon toy you brought today, wincing in pain as he pushed his hands out in front of him, as if to stop himself from hitting the floor in front.

Instead, he fell backwards, instantly shouting out words in languages you didn’t understand. You waddled to the edge of the pool, gazing at your dad worriedly as he scrunched his face together looking at the figurine. “Sorry,” You offered, trying not to giggle as he grumbled silly at the toy, tossing it to the side.

“Yeah, maybe we should take you to the store for other things to play with.” Bucky mumbled, shaking his head in embarrassment at himself.

Steve Rogers:

When he stepped onto one of your Pokémon figurines, he wanted to scream. The pain was worse than falling out of a plane, and it doubled when he stepped down on it again by accident. Steve groaned loudly instead, “How the fuck is this a toy?” Bucky gazed to him as he tilted his head, “Steve.” Bucky warned, as Steve shook the toy off.

“Yeah?” Steve answered, gazing down at the Pokémon angrily. “Did my daughter’s toy really just cause you to break out of your ‘Language’ bullshit?” Bucky responded, glancing down to the toy. Steve nodded, gazing back to you. You were sitting on the couch, wearing your headphones while watching cartoons.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this but- watch your language around her.” Bucky spoke again, making Steve chuckle in response, “Yeah, sorry.”

Tony Stark:

He might’ve really enjoyed your Legos. It was like fidget toys for him, and he’d always steal a handful from your box. He didn’t even want Bucky or you to know, because he wouldn’t hear the end of it. He had taken some from the day before, and accidently knocked it off his desk in a rush to grab his coffee while working on a project.

When he went to pick them up, the power went out. He stepped forward, taking his phone out for light, but instead his foot collided with one of the Legos. It stung as it wedged itself against his foot, and Tony yelped loudly, barely catching himself.

The power came back on the next second, as you ran to the lab after hearing Tony. You raised your eyebrows at him, walking through the entrance. “Are you alright?” You questioned, quickly glancing to the ground, seeing your toys.

You looked back up to Tony, smiling as you figured out what happened. He groaned back at you, “Don’t tell anyone I tripped on that.” His words made you giggle as you shook your head back to him.

“Okay, just stop stealing my toys!” Tony muffled his immediate response of cursing by shoving a hand to his mouth. You giggled again, hearing him but shrugging it off as you gazed back to your toys excitedly.

Natasha Romanoff:

It happened when she wasn’t concentrating; and that wasn’t often. She was just walking to the next meeting as you skipped by her side, rambling about your favorite cartoons. She was half listening, as she was looking for the meeting room, not remembering the number.

When your Pokémon fell out of your hand, and in front of her, she didn’t see it. She was wearing shoes, yes, but stepping on such a figurine was unexpected, causing her to faulter in her walk, holding onto the wall for support. You started to giggle loudly at her as she let out a small “Shit,” under her breath, huffing out in surprise.

“Auntie Nat tripped!” You called out, as your dad and Steve walked out of the meeting room that was a few feet away. Bucky raised his eyebrows back at the two of you, nodding in understanding as he glanced to the ground.

Steve let out a small sigh seeing it as well, “We really need to get rid of those things.” Natasha agreed, but didn’t voice it as she saw your angry pout back at him and your dad.  

Sam Wilson:

Your toys were scattered everywhere today as Sam stood in the gym, confused. You gazed back at him as you shrugged, explaining, “Well they need to train as well! They’re assassins like Black Widow!” Sam let out a laugh, knowing you had no idea that Natasha was the Black Widow, but it was for the best now.

He responded in the next second, “We need to pick them up, I think they had enough training for now.” His words followed along with your story, as he started to pick a few of the Legos up. You groaned back at him but agreed.

“Did you know that dad said you trained like you were in my kindergarten class?” You mentioned, causing Sam to shoot right up, staring back at you with astonishment.

“He said that?” Sam scoffed, laughing slightly. He dropped the Legos he picked up as he shook his head, “Well your dad stinks after training, like-” He cut himself off as his foot stepped onto one of the Legos wrong, breaking the fabric of the sock.

Sam cringed at the feeling of pain followed right after, “Oh- motherf- flipper, shark fin!” Sam yelped out, sighing in relief as he avoided the words. You cleared your throat, staring at him in confusion.

“My dad usually says motherfucker, but I like mother-flipper more.”

 --

Marvel Tag: @lozzypoz321 @peepeeparkerr