#so i figure the age gap between Steve and his siblings are

[morganbritton132]

Hey! Little add-on to the Steve Has Older Siblings AU that I’m apparently cultivating in this post and this post, but not going to actually write.

1. Steve’s oldest sister, Elizabeth, has not talked to the family since before Steve was born because his mom is a year older than her. They went to school together. They used to be friends.

2. The first of Steve’s siblings that try to mend their relationship with him is his brother Richie. Steve thinks he’s only trying now because his wife got full custody of their kids in the divorce and moved to Colorado. He has no interest in being anybody’s substitute kid.

3. Jason tried to drown Steve in the pool once. At least that’s how Steve remembers it. Jason remembers it differently. Very differently.

4. His sister, Claire, is secretly his favorite sibling but she did nearly overdose him on children’s Tylenol when he was a baby.

5 The first time Steve met Tommy’s brothers they were so (averagely) nice to him that he cried so hard Mrs H called his mom to pick him up.

[formosusiniquis]

inspired by this post by @ruelogy

ao3

Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes.

Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication. Cause it goes like this: Henderson comma Dustin is a fellow Hawkins transplant. Son of a single mother -- divorced or widowed, Eddie knows enough now to be sure that fueled the Hawkins gossip mill for weeks -- who brought her young son with her. Son, singular. Dustin joined the first grade class of Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and William Byers and that is as they say history. If there had been sons, plural, this mysterious older brother should have by all of Eddie's figurings joined Hawkins junior high right around the same time as a miserable Eddie. There should have been whispers about two new kids, there should have been someone for him to commiserate with, befriend.

Yet week after week young Dustin sits at Hellfire spinning yarns of a brother who was, what, homeschooled? Sent to a private military academy? Boarding school? Stayed at home with the mysterious father that Dustin doesn't mention -- and Eddie knows enough about fathers that go unmentioned not to break the silence -- but suddenly decided after he graduated to come join his mother and brother in Hawkins? Cause the thing is, Hawkins isn't that big. If pressed he's pretty sure he could name at least 90% of both of the classes he was supposed to graduate with and at least 75% of the group he's stuck with this year. He'd at the very least recognize them on sight, and not just cause he's dealt to the greater portion of the high school. Eddie pays attention, there are only like 400 students at the high school at any time, he should by all accounts be able to say, "Oh yeah that scrawny, bespectacled loser is Steve Henderson."

Except maybe there is no Steve Henderson, he's already faintly sure there's no Suzie so what's one more fictional friend from Dustin Henderson. Maybe this Steve is just the product of a fractured mind brought on by too much hands on parenting. Eddie knows people think all of his bad behavior is the product of underparenting, but if the opposite causes imaginary siblings he'll take the hand he got thank you very much.

Cause, sure he's doing his best to be third time lucky with this whole high school thing. He does know that compared to the should be starry eyed, but actually unsettlingly wary freshmen he is an ancient being of chaos. Yes, he feels every ounce of the five year gap between 19 and 14 when he speaks to them. But beyond all of that, he is still young. Still capable of swooning now and then; and the now is when Dustin describes his big brother and the then was all the other times Henderson the older has been detailed.

"Well that's cause I'm not really sorry, Mike," Henderson is on a tear already when he makes it to Hellfire, "I told you I have plans already."

"It's not that big a deal," Lucas placates, "we can do it another day."

"My parents won't be out of town another day," Mike sneers, "Will, you wouldn't ditch out on an all night Nintendo marathon for a date with Steve would you?" He says it like Will is the voice of the populace or something.

Maybe he is, and going by the way Will flushes a bright pink up to his bowlcut the voice of the people would in fact rather go out with Steve Henderson than hang out in a basement playing video games.

"It's not a date, he's my brother, and yeah dude I'm gonna skip out on watching you scream at Mario to go to an all night Stephen King movie marathon." Dustin says.

And swoon. That sounds like a dream.

"Like Steve would ever do something that cool, you can just say your mom won't let you come over cause my parents aren't gonna be home." Mike is surlier than usual, a trait he has noticed happens a lot when Henderson the elder gets broached. Eddie's theories range from misplaced sibling jealousy to repressed queer crush on Steve.

"C'mon kiddies save the tantrums for your mommies," he doesn't have a taste for it regardless of the answer, puberty is a bitch he's glad to be seeing the back of and Wheeler can go from being an angel to the kind of brat you do want to narc on just a little. "The rest of us have hoards to slay, maidens to save, things that don't involve listening to your play date fall apart."

He desperately wants to ask Henderson where they're movie night is taking place, because it sounds amazing and not at all because he wants to finally see this mysterious brother.

“It wasn’t even mine!” Henderson is moaning by the time Eddie makes it from O’Donnells to the cafeteria. He wasn’t that late, five minutes to plead his case for his grade at most, but Henderson could monologue with the best of them and it took about as much to get the kid going as it did Eddie, which was saying something.

“And you and Erica made fun of what was under my bed.” Lucas says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.

“What was under your bed?” Will asks.

“We are not going to let Dustin get out of the fact that his Mom found his Star Trek porn that easily,” Mike shrieks, he sounds like he’s trying to mind his volume but it’s still too loud for a public venue, “You gave me shit for weeks about that Penthouse you found under my bed.”

“We gave you shit because you stole it from your dad,” Lucas corrects, not that anyone but Eddie hears it.

Cause as Lucas speaks Dustin is shouting, “It wasn’t fucking mine! It has to be Steve’s but try telling my mom anything about her favorite son.”

Three sets of disbeliving eyes look over at Dustin, but it’s Mike who says, “There’s no fucking way anyone is gonna believe it was Steve’s dude, just give it up.”

“I don’t even like Star Trek that much!”

Eddie has been having dreams of a mystery boy with a gorgeous head of hair and Dustin’s sweet smile. He likes horror but will pretend to get scared so he has a reason to hide his face in Eddie’s neck, and when he gets there he’s a biter. “Now, now Henderson, what kind of self-respecting nerd doesn’t enjoy the dulcet tones of Mr. Spock.”

Henderson wrinkles his little nose, what a twerp or maybe he’s thinking of his brother’s zine again, “It’s okay, but who goes to sci-fi for philosophy when you could watch space battles and deathstars.”

Eddie spares a prayer for Dustin’s English grade. “Well at least one Henderson has taste.”

He’s never had a younger sibling in Hellfire before, Gareth and Joey are only children and Jeff is way older than his miracle baby sister, so it is a treat to watch the way Henderson goes red, white, and then green as he cycles through a series of emotions surrounding his brother so fast it gives Eddie a headache.

“Dude, he probably bought it for you not knowing what it was,” Mike says, “it’s not like Steve is watching Star Trek.”

"You didn't see it."

"Maybe it was a prank?"

Eddie tunes them out, returning to the Steve in his imagination. They're slipping out of the movie they just finished, the one they bought tickets for, Steve giggles -- Eddie thinks he'd have a nice laugh, thinks he makes his brother laugh a lot -- and tugs him into The Voyage Home. "You gonna think of your favorite captain while we hide in the back row, Stevie?"

"Kirk is an Admiral now, he has been for three movies. Some fan you are."

He wonders if it’s creepy, this mental file he’s compiling on Henderson’s brother. It’s not like he knows the guy, truly a backwards fucking miracle in this two stoplight nothing of a town, but Eddies’ always liked something that he can sink his teeth into and pull apart. That’s what Steve Henderson feels like to him, like if a rubix cube was also a steak. He’s lost track of the metaphor in his own head, it’s whatever.

Cause Steve Henderson loves horror movies, but watches sappy romance flicks with his mom when they both have the same day off. Steve Henderson’s favorite color is yellow, but he only wears it on days that he can barely get out of bed; Dustin says that like it’s a warning sign for the others “Steve has his yellow sweater on today,” explaining away his absence at the arcade that afternoon. Steve Henderson could have any girl he wants -- this factoid Eddie takes with a salt, lime, and tequila -- but he never goes on dates anymore and only hangs out with his best friend and coworker. Steve Henderson baked a brownie so good Jeff moaned in the middle of Hellfire but can only over or undercook pasta when he tries.

Dustin loves his brother. Dustin thinks he’s the worst person to ever grace this side of the planet.

That Eddie thinks is at least typical for siblings, barring the Byers who seem to be so close knit they’d put the Bradys to shame.

“Henderson, my man, why the long face? We’re about to begin the most dangerous leg of your quest yet!” Hellfire was getting a delayed start -- the drama club was actually using their prop closet, go figure -- it was just him and Henderson lurking outside so Eddie did have to find his fun where he could get it.

“Steve and Robin went up to Indianapolis and they’re gonna be gone the whole weekend.” And yeah, he probably could have guessed it was about big brother Henderson. Dusty has the cutest case of hero worship when he wasn’t wishing big brother dead. “They say they aren’t dating, and it’s just for her birthday, but a weekend trip seriously it screams romance.”

“And you’re mad they didn’t bring you?”

“I could have been out of the way! Do you know the kind of specialty tech shops they have up there? I need some things you can't get in Hawkins to improve Cerebro and it's twice as much to get them mail order. I could make myself scarce for a couple hours so they can get it on.

He smacks the bill of Dustin’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes, but nobly refrains from giving him a noogie, “Dusty if you ever want to pop your little Mormon girl’s cherry, maybe don’t say shit like ‘get it on.’”

“Suzie is an angel, don’t be crude, man.” Dustin’s hands are quick as they smack him away, that must be another little brother trait.

“An angel, huh, another point in the ‘girlfriend isn’t real’ category. How many imaginary friends do you have, kid? A girlfriend in Utah and a brother that no one but your party has seen.”

The rest of Hellfire starts to trickle in, having used their time waiting for their table more wisely than Eddie has. Dustin’s comment is delayed only momentarily as he says hi to the rest of the freshmen that he definitely saw only a few minutes ago. “For the record, Suzie is very real. And you…” It’s the way he trails off that makes Eddie nervous, the way a light goes on in his eyes that sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. His danger instincts are finely honed and that's the same, 'I'm smarter than you look' Henderson was wearing when he managed to sniff out half the traps Eddie had laid out last session. "You should meet Steve, I bet I could get him to pick us up next week instead of Nancy."

He thinks this must be what the raccoons behind the trailer park feel like. The obvious trap of the shiny silver cage that's been baited so sweet it's hard to resist walking in anyway. "Sure, Henderson, tell the mysterious brother to stop by. Have him bring one of those zines that definitely belongs to him."

Dustin is especially vicious as dispatches with every creature that Eddie throws at him that day. It’s hard to be that upset, he’s feeling pretty fat and happy sitting in whatever animal control rodent trap Henderson thinks he’s got him in.

The next week’s session comes in a haze of vague daydreams and intense session prep. He’s had Steve Henderson on the brain for so long that he all but forgot about his little tête-à-tête with Dustin the week before. Forgot if not for the way that Baby Henderson is vibrating at the Hellfire lunch table when Eddie arrives.

“Steve is coming to get us from Hellfire today!” Eddie personally thinks this doesn’t quite deserve the level of reaction that it’s getting, but Henderson is so worked up no one even needs to prompt him to keep him going. “He had to leave right after his weekend trip to go deal with lawyers and shit.”

“Are they still..?” Lucas trails off, he’s clearly concerned but for all that Eddie hates that the kid is looking down the barrel of jock life he is extremely emotionally adept.

“Mom and Steve both said it was handled now. They won’t answer me when I ask any questions.”

Ominous, everything about Steve Henderson was so fucking weird. A kid who didn’t exist all through high school, that he’s never seen in town, who has lawyers now?

“Maybe Hop could,” the kid started to ask, hopeful.

“Mom says that it’s Steve’s business and we should all stay out of it unless he asks for our help.” Will responds by rote, something he’s clearly already tried before.

“So the infamous Steve Henderson is going to grace us with his presence today?” Eddie knows the answer already, but like most of his vices he can't resist indulging.

"He's taking us all out for ice cream after," Dustin agrees, "you could come too Eddie, I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind!"

"Steve minds everything," Mike grouses.

"Steve always buys your triple scoop sundae."

Eddie thinks Steve Henderson would have elegant fingers. He thinks about how they might toy with the straw of his milkshake while he smiles, coy and teasing, at Eddie, who he's charmed by. This Steve lets Eddie snatch the cherry from his drink, blushes when he gets his stem returned tied in a knot by Eddie's tongue.

"Well if Steve is buying, who am I to refuse an invitation?"

He does not end Hellfire early because Steve Henderson is coming. 

He does, by pure coincidence, need to piss 15 minutes before things are set to wrap up. If that gives him enough time to clean himself up a bit that's just luck. This isn't for Steve Henderson.

His bathroom break, and definitely not pre-date primp session, puts him at the back of the pack when Steve Harrington's maroon beemer pulls into the lot. It feels a little bit like sophomore year again. When his hair was in another awkward stage of growing out and curled around his ears, he didn't have his mom to help him with the curls anymore and he didn't know what to do with them now that they seemed to twist and turn in new directions post-buzz. He caught the sweetest looking boy with puppy dog eyes staring and he'd been so embarrassed about getting caught he'd touched his own locks. Hairsprayed into oblivion and locked firmly into place the touch was ripped away and a shy, 'what can you do' smile was shared between the two of them. It feels a bit like junior year when Steve Harrington broke the keg stand record as a sophomore. Rounding the corner from tipsy into drunk or maybe bypassing it altogether for blackout, he wandered over into Eddie's domain. He had that same shy little wave, but a stronger confidence. He sidled up to Eddie and wrapped a curl around a finger. He tugged, just a bit, the way kids do when they want to see if it'll bounce back. "Yknow you'd be pretty if you were a girl." The slip slide of his definitely drunk tone didn't take Eddie out at the knees any less.

The car curves up closer to the front steps and Henderson is shaking like a rocket leaving Canaveral. He actually starts to take a step toward the still moving car when four hands clamp down on him saving Steve last-name-to-be-determined from a vehicular manslaughter charge. Eddie is the last to release him when he hears that car slide into park. The engine has barely had time to rumble to a stop before Steve Harrington is out of it. A toothy smile splits his face and, hidden behind Byers and Wheeler, Eddie watches as Steve Harrington proceeds to engage in the nerdiest fucking handshake he's ever seen. Steve Harrington finishes dying by what seems to be lethal lightsaber disembowelment and waves at the other three teens. 

"Alright let's rock n roll if you twerps want ice cream before I drop you off. Joyce will kill me if you're late."

"Steve, can Eddie come with us?"

As Henderson asks Eddie now sees the exact size and shape of the trap he is in. The actually dweeby, dungeon master and drug dealer forced to watch the hot, once cool older brother bow to the obligation of Midwestern courtesy now that he's been ambushed with Eddie's existence. Or worse he'll have to stand there and pretend to be unbothered while King Steve shoots both Hendersons hopes and Eddie's dreams in the face with one curled lip.

He never could have imagined the furrow of confusion between his brows. The way lips wrap themselves around his name, tasting it. He hadn't, in his many fantasies, pictured golden brown eyes though he often thought of them snapping up to him like they were now.

A rosy blush blooms across Steve's face. He has the same shy finger wave he did as a freshman. "Depends, Dust, are you gonna give up your shotgun dibs or are you gonna make your troop leader sit in the back with the rest of the Party.” 

He watches as if in slow motion as Henderson lunges for Steve, the elder is laughing as the younger wraps his arms around his neck. There is something very intensely attractive about the lingering jock of it all. How Steve is still upright even as his teenage brother dangles from his neck. “You know it’s Dungeon Master, you get it right with Erica!”

“I have a lot of respect for Erica, the things she does with goblins and kobolds is masterful. You asked me about the lead up to a trap so obvious it felt like an eagle scout showing his little cubbies poison ivy." It's bitchy and nerdy in all the best ways, and then Steve H- Steve looks up at him and winks, "No offense, Munson."

"None taken, Stevie." That seems to catch them both by surprise, the lack of a certain last name to fall back to -- and weeks of imagining what it might be like to interact with the guy who is and isn't right in front of him -- has Eddie overly familiar. "I drove here though." His van stands like a monolith alone in the middle of an empty parking lot.

"Oh."

"But I could meet you there? Are you going to the Dairy Queen by the library or the haunted one?"

"It's not actually haunted," Byers pipes in with frightening sincerity.

"But yeah, the haunted one," Steve says with a boy next door grin.

"Then I will meet you and your charges there Sir Henderson." He bows and only immediately regrets it, now that the once Harrington lord of the school is out of his line of sight. His brain feels like it could short out, faulty wires sparking against memories and daydreams and general hormones.

A sheepie he saved from the slaughter snorts, another - probably Mike - whispers "Gross." There's a grunt that Eddie hopes is the traitor catching an elbow from one of the others. 

But it doesn't. fucking. matter because Steve Whatever laughs, practically giggles at Eddie and his antics.

And Dustin's rocket has come in for a rough landing, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Steve's hand envelopes the top of Dustin's head, he nearly palms it. It's not quite a noogie, more like he shakes his head for him. "Dusty-bun, why would you regret introducing me to your Dork Mother?"

"I'm gonna tell Ma you're being a bitch again."

"She won't believe you, I'm her favorite." He shoots another wink toward Eddie, a joke he's being allowed in on.

Level headed Dustin Henderson, who explained to him, in depth, how getting overly emotional impairs higher level critical thinking, stomps his foot. "You're so full of shit."

"I am. She chose me, she got stuck with you."

"Steve!"

He laughs at the despair he's caused, ruffling cap covered hair again until Dustin stomps out of reaching distance to climb in the Beemer with the other boys. Brown eyes are bright with mischief when he looks to Eddie, and he's struck by a thought. He was right, he hadn't ever met Steve Henderson before today. This is not the same boy who sat in the cafeteria with a closed mouth smile listening to Tommy H. and Carol. "Let me walk you to your car?" He asks.

"It's right there, Stevie, and do you really want to leave that band of miscreants alone with your car?" He's playing with fire, but the fear of getting burned has never stopped him before. He leans in close, whispers, "They might steal it."

Steve pales, a haunted look in his eye. He shakes it off, squeezing his eyes shut tight,  and that soft smile slips across his face again. "Let me watch you leave then." That smile slides into a smirk, as he looks Eddie up and down.

He was right about getting burned, his face feels like it's on fire as he flees the scene. His tail is definitely not tucked between his legs because Steve is absolutely staring at his ass right now. He doesn't remember how walking is supposed to feel, but it's probably not like this. It would be embarrassing, the fact that he probably looks like a baby deer discovering he has knees for the first time, if it weren't more important that he makes sure each foot is planted so he doesn't acquaint himself with the ground below him. Safely encased in the van, he chances a look through the windshield and confirms that Steve is watching him.

He waves, and yeah it is gratifying to see the guy who at one point had half the girls in school fawning over him duck his head like he's embarrassed at getting caught staring. Sinclair leans up from the back seat, Eddie watches him clap Steve on the shoulder and make a comment on… something, probably him. It makes the rest of the car laugh and Steve thunk his head down on the steering wheel. The horn sounds, an echoing burst of noise that cuts off just as quickly as it starts when Steve jumps in his seat. The seat belt stops his jump short, and he sends another flustered wave Eddie's way when he notices him still watching.

Maybe he'll mention this to Little Red, his new neighbor has mentioned stealing young Henderson's brother and making him a Mayfield instead. A joke that makes a little more sense now. Sinclair has been making moon eyes at her and baby Hopper at lunch for the last week. That will be a better punishment than anything Eddie could do to him at the table.

He waves back at Steve, gives him his most winning smile -- the one he practiced in the mirror for charming pretty boys if he ever got out of the armpit of Indiana. Mimes driving like he's in a bad movie. Across twenty feet and two windows, he can't hear Steve laugh, needs to get to somewhere where he can. He can see the smile though, the dorky thumbs up.

He lets the Beemer pull out in front of him, watches it for just a moment as reality sets in. Reality. He's going to meet Steve Henderson for soft serve. It's a dream come true.

Arwen shifts into gear, and he slides out behind Steve and the sheepies. A whole new world of daydreaming unlocked.

Maybe next week Steve Henderson will let Nancy pick the kids up next week. He'll slip in the back doors of the school, unnoticed by everyone. Stealth bonus obscene for a fighter class. Eddie is moving slow as he moves minis and graph paper maps into the tackle box Wayne gave him, back to the door he misses his rogue slip through the door until he's already grappled.

"Was it a good game, Munson? You win?"

"It's not like one of your sports, Henderson, the wins aren't as clear cut."

Hands start to wander, "Isn't any time you pull one over on the Party kind of a victory?"

"In which case I do stand victorious, your sweet baby brother lost his brand new axe to a mimic."

"Hmm, you know what we used to do after a victory in my 'sports?'"

A hand has migrated to an especially interesting place. "What?"

"We'd hit the showers."

Eddie shakes himself out of the daydream, easing just the smallest bit harder onto the accelerator. He needs something to cool himself off with. He also really wants to see Steve again, to make up for lost time.

[ltbarnes]

You’re Gonna Go Far

Summary: You’ve been acting different for weeks now and Steve is not having that at all. His little sister is his world, and sitting crying in your room without telling him why? Unacceptable.

Pairing: older brother!Steve Rogers x sibling!gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: anxiety, Steve swearing (he’s not a sweet innocent angel when it comes to language and I stand by that), classic hurt/comfort fic

A/N: Just a sweet little drabble (by my standards) inspired by a request I got ages ago.

@yoquese2637

Masterlist

"Y/n?"

The knock on your door is gentle, despite the man delivering it. Steve's a brute and doesn't know his own strength most of the time, you always tell him that, but this time it seems like he took great care in being careful.

"Mhm?" you answer, sniffling. No point in hiding the tears when he could already hear them from downstairs. Fucking super soldier serum thingy.

Steve presses down on the door handle, stepping inside your room silently. He doesn't see you at first. Finds out it's because you're sitting on the floor, back against the bed, arms around your knees.

The palm of your hand dries away the solitary tears dripping down your cheek, ignoring the concerned glance of your brother. His eyebrows are knitted tightly into a frown, making him look so serious and ceremonial. You've never liked upsetting him.

Maybe you don't have the restraints you thought you had, when Steve's arm wraps around your shoulders and tugs you into his side. The small sliver of composure you managed to hold onto when he entered the room disappears into thin air as you cry into his chest, soaking his white t-shirt with your tears.

He stares out of the window, seeing the pale purple hue of the sky as it slowly fades into darkness. It takes a long time before your sobs die down into sniffles. Too much time, much longer than he likes.

"Why are you crying, sweetheart? Huh?" your brother asks, letting his chin fall down as he glances down at your figure curled up into him. "You know I hate seeing you like this. More than anything."

You shake your head, another onslaught of tears coming from your eyes. They're already red and puffy, accompanied by the pounding headache and sore throat from hours of doing the same. Talking feels like an exhausting effort, despite the knowledge that Steve would listen to any and every word that would come out of your mouth.

There's no one else left in your family but Steve. That and the large age gap between you has made it natural that he's become some form of caretaker, protector, for you. You're an adult now, but he still looks out for you as if you were a little kid.

"Alright, silent treatment it is. Just gonna leave me to talk then, yeah?" he says, an attempt to lighten the mood. It doesn't work. Steve sighs. "It hasn't slipped past me that you haven't been yourself lately, Y/n. I can hear that you don't fall asleep until early in the morning when you're here and not in your dorm. Crying yourself to sleep. You barely talk to me anymore."

All you do is bury your face into your arms, small whimpers and sniffles escaping your lips. Steve's hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing up and down.

"It's not enough that I barely get to hang out with you anymore 'cause you spend most of the time at campus, but while you're visiting home you're so distant. It's not like you, doll. C'mon. What is it?"

A deep breath that comes out as shaky, your lips trembling as you part them to speak.

"It's so hard," you whisper, voice breaking and getting stuck on a sob desperate to come out. "And I'm scared. I don't know anything about what I want. Everything just feels pointless."

He draws in a sharp breath, tightening his fingers until they dig into the soft flesh of your arm. "Y/n..."

"I can't fall asleep because I just keep thinking about the future and it makes me want to hole myself up here in your house forever. I feel like I'll never do anything worth something. Like I'm just doomed to be one of those people that fade into the background, don't mean anything to anyone."

"Don't say that," Steve growls, retracting the arm he had around your shoulder. "Don't you ever say that again, Y/n."

The abrupt change in the tone of his voice unnerves you, forces your gaze away from his burning stare. But he doesn't let you—no, he grips your face with his hands, tilting your chin up until you're staring into his now narrow eyes.

"How could you even think that?" he asks. He sounds upset, for real. Like he actually believes in the words he's saying. You just don't. "God, Y/n, I'm so damn—I'm so mad that you don't see..."

Steve shakes his head, lowering his gaze with a mumbled curse under his breath.

"You're scared and anxious. That's understandable considering the goddamn horrible state the world is in. But don't you ever think that you are not something special, Y/n. I want you to think that you're the most kind, sweet and smart person in the world."

It's your turn to shake your head with a silent scoff, letting the salty tears seep into the corner of your mouth.

"You're family. You have to say that. It doesn't matter what you think or what you want me to believe you think. That doesn't make it less true that I'm just an average person who'll probably never amount to something. I'm not good at anything."

Steve clenches his jaw, breathing out deeply through his nose. "It's hard not to compare yourself to people, I know that. Believe me I do—"

"You can't say that. God, Steve—you're a literal fucking Avenger. Don't you understand that? You can be insecure as much as you want, but at the end of the day you still matter. The world would miss you if you were gone. You've done something meaningful with your life. That's never gonna be how people look at me."

"Fucking hell you're stubborn,"Steve seethes, the very rare curse slipping out of his mouth. "Even if you don't believe me, I want you to know that I do think you are one of the most amazing people I know. I genuinely do. And I've met a hell of a lot of people."

The roll of your eyes doesn't go unnoticed by your brother. He dries away the last few tears from underneath your eyes with his thumbs, letting his hand linger on your cheek for a second.

"Don't you roll your eyes on me. I don't know what's made you so insecure about yourself, but this that you're feeling—it's not forever. You haven't even graduated college yet, honey. You don't need to have anything figured out.

Your gaze averts from his, staring out through the window out onto the green trees lining the yard, peaking over the sill. There's a certain genuineness in your brother's words, and you know he really does believe whatever he's saying. That doesn't mean you are there yet, far from it. But for tonight, maybe you can let it go.

"You know, anyone that tells you different are punks," Steve adds.

A chuckle escapes through your tears. "Who the hell still says punks?"

Steve scoffs, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not young and cool anymore. An old man."

"You're 30. Hardly old yet. Never been cool, though," you tease through your sniffles.

"Who raised you?" he answers playfully, squeezing the back of your neck.

"You did."

"Huh. Did a bad job at it, then."

A minute passes by, comfortable silence. Your head leaning on your brother's shoulder.

"I'm hungry," you mumble under your breath while looking down at the carpet underneath your feet.

A scoff, equally amused and relieved, sounds from Steve. He squeezes your arms, tugging you into his side to plant a kiss to your head. With a grunt he pushes himself up from the ground, offering his hand to help you do the same.

"I ordered Thai. A lot," he says, holding onto your arm even when you’re standing up now. "Let's stuff our faces, huh?"

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Have you noticed the thing in fanfics of children's lit where the writer gives the protagonist new parent figures? The parent figures say things like "no child should have had to do x!". PF's don't prevent protagonist from doing heroism but might ground them for it after. Under their care, the protagonist is likely to get a job, often at the business of the PF. Seems less common for the Animorph (more in ATLA and Harry Potter), but if you have seen this, what's going on? Why do writers do this?

Why do writers do this?

Welcome to the fandom renaissance, Nonny!  My best stab as to what’s going on here is that we’re seeing fewer and fewer shipping wars due to a whole range of forces from “the average age of fandom is increasing” to “there’s an ongoing post-monogamy societal shift.”   BUT that there’s still a desire to see relationship-building fic go in the gaps where (for instance) Pro-Jacob Anti-Edward fic used to go.  So instead of writing about Edward and Bella’s romance, people are writing about Edward and Carlisle’s mentorship, or Leah and Rosalie’s friendship.

What’s going on?

Again, a stab in the dark: it’s a really fun story premise, one that can get away from the way ships are sometimes fraught with baggage.  Found Family is intensely cathartic, in the sense that it takes characters who are miserable and/or lonely in canon and allows them to build loving relationships with each other.  It also (IMHO) reflects that trend among Millennial Whippersnappers to move away from nuclear definitions of “family” and toward embracing everything from polyamory to sexless romance to adult adoption.

Not only that, but it’s awesome in that it lets writers play so much with foils.  Stranger Things obviously does this Up to Eleven (pun intended): Steve’s an arrogant jerk when he’s interacting with Nancy but a dorky sweetheart around Dustin, Hopper’s at his worst around Joyce but at his best around El, Billy’s evil to Max but might be redeemable around his mom, etcetera.  This premise gives fan writers the chance to get wildly different characters into a room together — what if the Tonks family adopted Neville Longbottom? — and start playing out the fun potential.

Why Avatar and Harry Potter (but not Animorphs)?

In a word: FOILS.  Both AtLA and Harry Potter are series filled with good, bad, and ugly mentors, and both series have contrasts between the good and the bad.  For AtLA, it’s no accident that Zuko finally reuniting with his father in S3E1 is intercut with the scene of Katara finally reuniting with her father.  Katara’s fam airs their grievances, talks things out, yells, cries, apologizes, forgives, hugs, and affirms their ongoing love.  Zuko’s fam deals with having 500 times as much baggage by... Zuko kowtowing silently on the floor while Ozai talks about everything but their problems with each other.  After that sequence, the desire to get Zuko into a room with Hakoda for some proper fathering is practically overwhelming, and many brilliant fan writers have obliged us by doing exactly that.

For Harry Potter, there’s no scene that’s as in-your-face with the contrast between healthy vs. unhealthy disagreement with one’s father, but there are still plenty of mentor foils.  Sirius and Petunia are probably the clearest examples.  Sirius is a raging mess who (on the surface) has nothing to offer Harry: he’s an ex-con with a drinking problem and untreated mental health issues who spends much of the series homeless.  Petunia has her shit together and (on the surface) is the perfect guardian for Harry: she’s a wealthy full-time parent who lives in a large suburban house, and is both his closest surviving relative and his legal guardian.  But of course all Harry needs from a parent is love and support, and Sirius offers that in spades while Petunia has none to spare.  Again, the desire to rip Harry away from the Dursleys and ship him off to go be a Black is overwhelming, and many beautiful works of fan fiction have done exactly that.

Animorphs... doesn’t have mentor characters.  Like, none.  Elfangor dies, Toby does her own thing, Erek can’t be trusted, neither Ax nor Jake wants to mentor, and all adults are possible controllers.  Eva’s the closest we get, but by the time she’s free, everyone (especially Eva) recognizes that the Animorphs are already more experienced than her.  We don’t even see a dynamic like the Teen Titans show where the villains mentor the heroes — Jake and Marco might occasionally parallel Visser Three and Visser One, but they don’t learn from the vissers the way that Robin does from Slade or Raven does from Trigon.  The kids just... find their own way.  So while people have written fic where Elfangor or Eva or Mertil or Tom mentors the team, there’s not this in-your-face missed opportunity for the kids to get the parenting they deserve in Animorphs the way there is with Harry Potter and Avatar.

Have you noticed the thing?

Personally, I love this trend.  I’m not much of a shipper — I’m not fond of “will they or won’t they” romantic premises, and actively dislike “they will because they’re soulmates” premises.  My favorite Ship Dynamics are all platonic.  Like, my faves include (but are not limited to):

Grubby Semi-Feral Mentee and Aloof Socially-Incompetent Mentor Bond with Alarming Speed Over Niche Magical Interest (see: Briar and Rosethorn in Circle of Magic, Boy 412 and Marcia in Septimus Heap, Jason and Bruce in Batman, Wart and Merlin in The Once and Future King)

Well-Intentioned Loving Parent Irretrievably Fucks Up Child, Copes with Fallout (see: John and Dean in Supernatural, Adam and Cal in East of Eden, Soichiro and Light in Death Note, Elaine and T.J. in Political Animals)

I’ve Only Known This Person With Extremely Specific Shared Trauma for 10 Minutes But If Anything Happened to Them I Would Kill Everyone (see: Toph and Zuko in AtLA, Luke and Annabeth in Demigod Diaries, Ax and Tobias in Animorphs, Spike and Angel in Angel, Parker and Eliot in Leverage, Johanna and Finnick in Catching Fire)

Saving the World Sucks But At Least My Ultra-Competent Siblings Are Suffering With Me (see: Edmund and Lucy in Chronicles of Narnia, Sam and Dean in Supernatural, the Hargreeveses in Umbrella Academy, the Crains in Haunting of Hill House)

Just Because I Tried to Kill You That One Time Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Help You Hide a Body, JFC We’re Still Family and I Don’t Know What You Take Me For (see: the Robins in Batman, Septimus and Simon in Septimus Heap, Kyle and Ian in The Host)

We Were the Weird Cousins At All the Family Reunions and We’ve Only Gotten Weirder Since (see: Kate and George in Story Time, Jake and Rachel in Animorphs, Po and Bitterblue in Graceling Realm)

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 17

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, dark sexual situations VERY SERIOUS REMINDER:  we’re getting into perilous content. heed the tags, this story features NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATIONS, power imbalances, and really, really fucked up characters with really horrible and fucked up motives. YOU MUST BE OVER 18 TO READ THIS STORY. put yourself first, if this story is going to trigger or upset you, do not continue.

"You know, with the right training she could be—" 

"Don't. Don't say it, Clint." Bucky still had an ice pack pressed against his head, laid in one of the beds in Bruce's med lab with Tony in a similar situation to his left. Penny was medically sedated and laying across Bucky's chest, looking far too peaceful for having attempted two whole murders not an hour ago. 

Natasha smiled at the way her blond friend pouted, crossing his muscled arms over his chest and muttering something about "I was just saying…". She'd come home just in time to witness the chaos that followed Penny's admittedly brutal attack (she would never tell the soldiers, but she was at least 75% sure that given the right combination of timing and surprise Penny could absolutely kill at least one of them) and hadn't stopped smiling since. 

Seeing Penny Parker on a television screen, filmed by a shitty old laptop webcam, was entirely different than seeing her in person. She was just as cute, made the same little irritated faces and noises but she could see what Steve had seen so early on now, that there was something more. Even after she’d literally just taken a makeshift baseball bat to his skull, Bucky’s hands were running up and down her back, chin brushing the top of her head. They’d mentioned something about not wanting her to have to see a needle mark after being sedated, Steve had changed her into a long sleeve shirt and a pair of pink shorts, but not before making everyone but Tony and Bucky leave the room. 

There was something about her that made the people in her vicinity want to do things for her. She made people want to make her happy. It was some kind of compulsion, found most deeply in the three men currently resting closest to her— she’d tried to literally break his ribs, but even Tony had an arm stretched over the gap between beds to hold her hand. 

The man in question was actually the main reason she’d headed to the medical floor upon returning to the tower. There were times when Tony became strangely unapproachable and it had taken a good 30 minutes of him reclining back on a hospital bed for him to regain his usual nonchalance and easiness. As soon as he recognized her lurking near the back of the room he’d motioned her over but was quick to ask her to wait until Penny had been under for a sufficient amount of time before asking for a debrief. 

“She’s gonna lose it when she wakes up,” Steve was talking mostly to Bucky, both hands on his lovers, “we’ll need to at least prove that Peter’s alright, immediately.” 

“She can’t see him for a bit,” Bucky’s tone was tighter than Natasha would’ve expected, his hands running up under the back of Penny’s shirt, “no offense Tony, but Penny was trying so hard and he just—” 

“No offense taken, Buckaroo,” Tony was tapping away at his tablet with his free hand, “Peter is in very big trouble.” 

“Penny is too,” Steve sighed heavily, elbows sinking into the mattress of Bucky and Penny’s bed slightly harder, “I just don’t know… She obviously has to be punished, what she did could’ve caused a lot more damage if she’d taken half a second longer to think it through, but at the same time—”

“At the same time we know she’s going to do whatever she thinks she has to in order to protect him.” Bucky removed one hand from Penny’s back to grasp his boyfriend’s. “We should’ve been ready for it. She doesn’t have impulse control when it comes to Peter, she needed us to keep her steady and we didn’t.” 

“If you are going to begin infantilizing her, you would best do it now.” There was a sharp delight in Loki’s tone as the man spoke, a wicked smirk on his face while he stood with his arms crossed over his chest near the wall. “Otherwise, keep in mind that she is an adult and is capable of rational thought.” 

“Sometimes she may not be, brother.” Thor sent the slender man a quick look of derision. “A rage is not something we can all dig our way out of and you know that just as well as I. Penny will trade herself and her own safety for Peter’s every time, in any case.” 

“I would say we’d take her for another lesson with Rumlow, but…” Steve very deliberately turned his gaze to her and Natasha forced herself not to preen under the eyes of one of her best friends, who knew she wouldn’t have returned unless she’d been successful in her task. 

“I’m afraid he’s going to be coming with me, after a debrief,” she inclined her head towards Tony, eyes darting just momentarily to Penny in question. 

“She’s been out long enough at this point she shouldn’t be able to still hear anything and if she does her brain won’t be able to make sense of it,” Bruce stated from his desk in the corner, having heard the woman’s hesitation. 

“Go ahead, Nat,” Tony added when the redhead still hesitated. 

“I found good matches for Penny and Peter,” she stated, producing photographs from her back pocket, “they’re not perfect, I’d need a bit more time, but they’ll be good enough. We’ll just need to mutilate the bodies more than usual, people won’t ask questions when they fit the situation so well. I’m going to burn the bodies in the woods, make it look like Rumlow got lost trying to find his way back to his car and died in the wilderness.” 

Tony hummed, brushing his fingers over the figures in the photographs. They’d been beaten in the process of their abduction but their general size, shape, and ages were correct. The kid wasn’t anything close to his baby boy, nothing in comparison to Peter, but he would likely fit the bill of tall, skinny, 17 almost 18-year-old boy who potentially didn’t get proper nutrition. The woman who’d been taken in place of Penny was slightly closer, if only because the skin was nearly the right shade (which wouldn’t matter once the body was burned, anyway). 

“How are the police doing?” 

“They’re pretty sure Penny was the target,” Clint butted in, having assisted with infiltrating the law enforcement presence surrounding the situation, “Peter was an unfortunate casualty. They have two or three leads but obviously nothing accurate, although her friend did come forward and tell the police Penny had been attacked in a club all those months ago.” 

Tony swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed but carefully waited for a go head nod from Bruce before getting to his feet. “I’m going to run some security tests, make sure nothing’s going to come back to us. Natasha, feel free to take a break before you run off with Rumlow.” 

“Hold on, Tony, I’m gonna come with you.” Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky gently, running his lips over the back of Penny’s head. “We’re obviously gonna need some advice going forward with Penny and I don’t know a better person to talk it over with.”

“Right on Cap, let’s go,” Tony turned and bent over to kiss Penny’s visible cheek, “take care of her, Bucky Bear.” 

“She won’t stay under long after I remove the anesthesia, we should do a blood test while she’s out,” Bruce interjected as he walked to one of the medical cabinets near his desk, “give her the vaccinations she’s missing—”

“Can you get that thing out of her arm?” Steve stopped just short of the doorway, Tony nearly running into his back. “There’s no way she’ll let us do it while she’s awake unless we restrain her.” 

“The birth control implant?” Bruce nodded, “Yeah, it’s just a quick incision.” 

Bucky hummed quietly, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair. “Is there anything else she needs that you can do while she’s asleep?” 

“I don’t think so,” Banner shook his head while he continued to ready his equipment, “I’m gonna take enough blood to run all of the tests we need, she might be a little woozy for a bit once she wakes up. Just make sure she eats and drinks plenty.” 

“She’ll wake up scared but after that she’ll settle pretty fast,” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “She knows she’s gonna get a punishment, she’ll be good ‘cause she’s scared to make it worse.” 

Bucky heaved a sigh, feeling Penny shift on his chest in the process. Thor and Loki remained in the room while Bruce puttered around, despite Natasha and Clint following at a respectful distance behind Steve and Tony. They hadn’t actually been near Penny since her arrival and he could tell the brothers were curious—obviously, the stories had been running rampant. She was certainly a curiosity. 

“She really is quite precious,” Thor’s voice was a rumble as he came to sit in the chair Steve had vacated, “the things she has gone through would have ruined some people.” 

Loki scoffed from his corner but Bucky didn’t take it personally; Thor and Loki had been through things that would cripple a normal person. Their childhoods had been full of the kind of suffering most people had nightmares about, literal torture. But in all fairness, Thor and Loki had been ruined by what they’d gone through.

“Bucky, lift her arm up and put her hand behind her head, I need to get to her tricep to get the implant out,” Bruce had rolled a little metal tray over to the bedside, “it’s a small incision, I’ll press the implant out and bandage it up.” 

“How soon will it lose effect?” 

The look the doctor leveled him was derisive, “Immediately, Buck. She’s gonna be fertile very quickly, you’ll need to make sure she has what she needs for when she starts to menstruate again.” 

It took real, actual willpower to keep himself from popping a boner. The word fertile was weird and held certain connotations, but the idea that if he came inside her she could get pregnant was almost mind-blowing. He and Steve wanted a big family, they always had, even when it had just been the two of them. They’d never thought anything would come of it, especially in the ‘40s but even after they’d found themselves hurled 70 years into the future. Two men adopting children was still persistently frowned upon. That wouldn’t be a problem anymore though, they had Penny, they had their babydoll. They were gonna have babies. 

Bruce proceeded to cut the implant out and bandage her up, take so many vials of blood from her arm that Bucky started getting concerned, and inject several vaccinations into each of her arms. He warned that she’d likely be sore, to keep her in long sleeves so she couldn’t irritate or see the injection sites. 

“Everything should be set to rights in your apartment,” Loki stated when Bucky finally came to stand up, Penny carefully cradled in his arms, “anything broken was replicated and replaced, the cats are with the little witch. I do suggest keeping her away from any object that can be wielded like a bat, her swing would likely give Thor a run for his money.” 

“She is a little warrior,” Thor stood up nodding, coming around the bed to stand next to his brother, “I hope that soon she will feel safe enough to know she does not have to be.” 

“Steve and Tony will come up with something.” If there was one thing Buck had no doubts about it was that if the pair of them put their heads together over a problem, it would inevitably be solved rather quickly. “We’ve just gotta keep her safe in the meantime. I’m gonna get her up to bed. How long on those sedatives, Bruce?”

“Not long, probably half an hour, an hour max. She’s going to be drowsy for a bit once she comes out of it too, so keep an eye on her.” 

Bucky slipped through the necessary pleasantries and found himself walking just slightly faster than usual towards the elevator. For some reason the ride took forever, all he wanted was Penny back in their bed, wrapped in blankets that smelled like them. 

Well, actually, that might’ve been a small white lie. In all honesty, he was very much preoccupied with the idea of Penny sleeping while filled to the brim with his cum. He wouldn't fuck her while she was unconscious, not for their first time anyway, but he wanted his cum on her, in her, somehow ASAP and his cock completely agreed. He knew that Steve would likely disagree with him, the blond had been pressing him for patience for weeks but he couldn't hold back completely— not while an image of the tiny Penny standing with a hugely pregnant belly (twins, he told himself, she was so big because she had two babies in there) watched him demurely through dark lashes in his mind's eye. 

He barely registered walking into the apartment, kicking off his shoes or shutting their bedroom door. The kittens were with Wanda, their friend not wanting to leave the poor things alone for too long, and he found the absence of the squeaky meows a small relief; that had been a part of what set Penny off before. 

They'd been doing that a lot— tiptoeing around Penny. She was delicate, in a very complicated situation, but they had been walking on eggshells with her since day one. They'd been so determined to make her happy they'd forgotten that breaking Penny needed to be a priority. She was strong-willed and he loved that, but her determination and stubbornness needed to be directed constructively. They should've been more stern with her from the beginning, more exacting. 

Bucky had decided on behalf of both him and Steve that it would be changing immediately upon her waking. Once he'd set her on the bed rested up against the headboard and several pillows, he immediately pulled off her little pink shorts and smiled at the sight below; Penny was small but she had a particularly sweet bubble butt and the panties they had for her didn't really fit because of it. The fabric was consistently caught between the cheeks of her ass, pulled tight in the crotch with dusky pussy lips almost peaking out on either side, especially when he splayed her legs wide to either side. 

His cock came out of his joggers and slapped against his lower stomach just as soon as he lowered the waistband far enough. Fully erect he was incredibly impressive, a combination of a botched super-soldier serum and genetics. He had always had a healthy sex drive, even when he and Stevie had been half-starving in their late teens he could remember railing the blond's ass in whatever speck of privacy he could achieve nearly every day. Stevie had whined even back then, even before the enhancements that Bucky had too much cum, that he felt like Bucky dumped buckets up his asshole every time they fucked. 'It's like gettin' an enema at the doctor, Buck,' the skinny blond would whine, holding himself around the gut as they walked down the street, 'I need'a bathroom.' Bucky would tell him that he better keep his asshole clenched to keep it all in, otherwise it'd look pretty bad while they walked. 'You want people to think you shit yourself with the wet spot you'd make punk? You better hold that cum until we get home— if you start to spill before that I might have to pull you into an alley and fill you back up.' 

It was a thing, he supposed, his very slight obsession with his cum filling and covering his lovers. Bucky climbed up onto the bed, hovering over Penny's waist while he jerked his cock. He'd imagined Penny walking around with belly fulls of cum constantly and figured daily blowjobs would be a good way to curb her stubbornness. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock and he arched his back to rub the head over her just slightly parted lips. It had been days since he and Steve had gotten a chance to go at it and he felt his balls draw up at the sensation of her breath on his oversensitive skin. 

"That's good babydoll," he murmured, slipping his thumb between her lips and gently coaxing her mouth open wider, "lemme cum right on that sweet tongue baby. Give you plenty to drink, just like Bruce said."

He slipped his cock just between her lips, groaning at the sensation while continuing to work himself. He could come buckets if he tried but was careful to bring on just a small orgasm, just enough to take the edge off.

"My good girl, you would take my whole cock down your throat, wouldn't you," his voice was gritty and low, "gonna swallow a whole load.. but for now…"

He moaned her name when he came, thick ropes covering her tongue quickly. He tilted her head back and rubbed her throat gently, coaxing her to swallow before he grasped the base of his dick almost painfully and shifted down her body. As much as he liked seeing her pretty lips covered in his drying cum, there was another spot he wanted to mark just as thoroughly.

Pulling the crotch of her underwear to the side was easy with the way he'd spread her legs and he was quick to work his hand down his cock, shooting the rest of his load into her panties. His breathing was faster than normal during an orgasm and as he pressed her panties back in place, slipping his fingers under the waistband and pulling them high, high, high on her hips to work his cum all over her little pussy, he realized he hadn't had such a satisfying orgasm since the first time he'd seen her on that shitty webcam footage. 

He heaved a sigh, carefully rearranging Penny to lay comfortably in the bed and gently pulling her silk shorts back up her legs. They’d likely be the only pair of pants she wore for the next week; her punishment would begin in the morning, a 25 count spanking every day for 5 days—1 for Tony’s bruised ribs, 2 for the grade of concussion Bucky had from the hit, 1 for Steve’s broken nose, and 1 for not following the rules. Their poor baby definitely wouldn’t be sitting on the bruises for a while. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered up when the bedroom door opened, only to nearly get yet another erection upon seeing Steve’s shirtless form illuminated from behind. The blond had a tendency to undress while walking from room to room in the apartment, leaving behind trails of clothes in his wake. His shirt was still in hand this time, likely a new habit in development after the few days he’d experienced Penny’s disgruntled looks every time she found a rogue shirt flung haphazardly across the apartment. 

“Is that cum on her lips, Buck?” His voice was gravelly and Bucky let a slow smirk cross his face. 

“In all fairness, I hadn’t come yet,” Bucky’s hand trailed down between her tights, swirling his fingers in the mess in her panties and showing it to the other man in the light, “not until this.” 

“Is that right, jerk? You telling me you didn’t cum in her mouth? I don’t believe that for a second,” Steve slipped around the side of the bed, tugging Bucky back towards the edge and pressing his thumb past the brunet’s lips to stroke against his tongue. “Penny’ll be asleep for a little longer, why don’t you come take a shower with me?” 

Bucky took the time to lean over Penny’s sleeping form and press his lips against her cheek before letting Steve pull him to his feet and into the bathroom. He made sure to leave the door propped open, just in case Penny started to wake up while they were still in the shower. 

In all honesty, they probably let things get away from them; the anesthesia mixed with the vaccinations and the blood loss wreaked quick havoc on Penny’s consciousness as she dragged herself awake; there was a sense of panic and despair caught in her chest but she didn’t know why? She didn’t know where she was, where was Peter, where was Aunt May—

The slowly increasing despair suddenly flooded through her, eyes blurring until Aunt May took shape in the shadows and contours of the bed beside her. God, she looked so pretty, so young, but her usual smile was missing. Instead, there were tears on her cheeks and a tremble shook her form. 

“May?” Penny’s voice felt hoarse, several octaves lower than usual, “Aunt May, why’re you crying?” 

May didn’t answer, her hand came down to rest on Penny’s shoulder but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel the familiar weight, the comforting heat. Something wasn’t right, her head swam. Why was she so messed up? The last time—

“What did you do, Pen?” Aunt May’s voice warbled, tapering off at the end. 

“Do?” She wasn’t sure if the word actually came out, had she actually spoken? 

“What did you do, Penny?” Names echoed in Penny’s head, Penny, Penina, Penelope, Pen, different voices saying different things, “All I asked was for you to take care of Peter…”

Crushing, violent pain rocketed through her heart, echoing in her muscles, vibrating from her pores. Aunt May had made her make so many promises before she passed, take care of Peter, give him a chance, be there for him. She’d asked for so much and Penny hadn’t been able to conform to every promise; she couldn’t take care of Peter and herself, couldn’t give him a chance and stay in school, couldn’t be there for him and also provide for him. There were trade-offs, she did what she had to. 

But the look of disappointment on May’s face was overwhelming, “you’re going to die, he’ll be alone, here, in this… place.” 

This place. Penny rolled to the edge of the bed opposite to where Aunt May sat, the contents of her stomach splattering against the hardwood floor. She shivered violently, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Her brain told her Aunt May had moved, the way the bed jolted made it feel like she was right behind her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, eyes wide and filling with tears, “I tried to hard—”

“I know, I know,” Aunt May’s voice sounded weird, her hands were so much bigger than Penny remembered, “you tried so hard, I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. But there won’t be a next time and it’s over now.” 

It was never enough. Penny tried so hard over and over only to fail, to fall short of the finish line. It didn’t matter if it was providing for her family, protecting Peter— nothing. It was too much, too overwhelming, every time she paid a bill there was another overdue, she could work every day of her life and never catch up to her debt, Peter was so sad every time she couldn’t make it to a competition or science fair but she couldn’t take time off, not when his school cost so much… 

“Oh Penny,” the voice was so far away and she found it hard to listen, her brain reorganizing the words, “why did you let this happen? Why didn’t you do better? Why don’t you ever get it right?” 

It didn’t matter that the words were actually meant to be comforting, Bucky and Steve having come running out of the shower upon hearing her vomit. “Its okay baby doll, I’m sorry we let this happen to you. We should have done better, I swear we’ll get it right.” 

[just-my-fandom]

Blame (Tony Stark x Daughter! Reader x Carol Danvers)

Request; Sorry if it's a weird request but can I have a lil Tony Stark x daughter!reader oneshot where Carol was the one to wield the Infinity stones (she survived), killed Thanos and all that, and Tony lived but R sacrificed herself to get the soul stone? And while he’s talking with Carol he can't stop thinking about it, experiencing survivor's guilt all over again and also thinking about the whole "there's only 1 reality in which we win" thing. So he finds Strange and confronts him about it, and in the end Tony gets him to confess that there were actually 2 outcomes in which they won but he lied for whatever reason Tony doesn't listens to and starts to get real angry at him, acting out of grief and pain because his daughter is gone and that could've been prevented. Sorry if it's too specific, I wanted to write it myself but I don't have the skills. Love u bye.

A/N; Didn’t know if you wanted a romantic pairing so I included a small Carol x reader so I hope you enjoy and that this doesn’t suck too much rip

I hate to inform that there is a shit tone of time skips in this oops. This is super long too, but I didn’t include the part with Carol and the stones

Warnings; Age gap between Carol and reader?? Reader is 19 during Infinity War

“Don’t you think you should go home with Pepper?”

You look up at a deep voice, eyes catching Steve leaning up against the doorway of the small office in the compound,

“And do what? Sit around and pretend that none of this happened?” You shrug your shoulders, attempting to ease the ache in your muscles, “That my father might be dead and Carol is probably dust too?”

“I’m sure Carols just fine,” Steve heaves a soft breath, your eyes glossing over as you shake your head,

“Then why hasn’t she tried to contact me?” You look up at the man you called your uncle, Steve frowning, “Why hasn’t she come down to Earth to check up?”

Steve moves forward, turning around at a rumble in the ground, catching Natasha running past him in the halls, “Dont let Pepper leave,” She calls, Steve shortly looking at you then following the blonde woman,

You shove away from your desk, feet slowly picking up speed so you ran past Steve, jumping over the steps outside the compounds door and slowing to a stop next to Natasha, eyes trailing up at the large ship,

“Carol!” You catch the blonde moving from under the ship, running up to her so she could pull you against her, hand at your hair,

“Hey baby,” She murmurs tiredly, thumb caressing your cheek and lips pressing to yours slowly, eyes shutting, “What happened while I was gone?”

“Thanos,” You reveal, the tears from minutes ago slipping into her hand, “Almost everyone’s gone, vanished. I thought you were too-,” Your eyes move past her shoulder, catching Steve and Pepper helping someone stand as they were too weak to do so on their own,

“Dad?” Carol allows you to slip away from her, Tony’s head lifting to meet your gaze,

“You’re okay,” He croaks out, pulling his arm away from Steve to reach out to you, Pepper holding his sides so he didn’t collapse when he throws both arms around you, “Oh thank God,”

“I thought you vanished,” You whisper, Tony shaking his head and blinking away sudden tears,

“I couldn’t leave my two favorite girls,” Tony cracks a smile, glancing at Pepper next to him,

“Let’s get you inside,” Pepper murmurs, “Get you a shower and clean clothes, food too,”

“Wait wait,” It’s an hour later. Rhodey and Thor had been called, told of Tony’s finding, and now you and your super family had gathered in the main area of the compound, “If you’re all super and powerful, where the hell were you during this whole attack with Thanos?”

Your eyes stare at your uncle, Rhodey, his gaze sharp on Carol next to you.

“There are many other planets than just Earth,” Carol reminds, flicking an eyebrow to the man and glancing at you when you put a hand on her arm,

“Who’s all gone?” You ask Tony, his gaze leaving the table to look up at his only child,

“The guardians. Strange. Peter,” Tony swallows, your hand tightening at Carols arm at the mention off your brother figure,

Carol protectively slides her hand into yours, squeezing tightly to assure you,

“What about here?” Tony questions quietly, rubbing his face out of exhaustion,

“The Wakandian siblings,” You start, voice wavering, “Wanda, Sam, Buck. Visions gone for good, I saw Thanos pull the stone out of him,”

You shut your eyes at the memory, Carol inhaling deeply and looking at your father,

“Point is, what do we do now?”

“There is nothing we can do,” Tony lifts a shoulder, sitting back down in his chair, “The stones and Thanos disappeared after he snapped. We just have to...move on,”

5 Years Later (Reader has moved out of the Stark home and moved in with her Aunt, Natasha, where they stay at the compound)

“Any luck on Banner?”

You lean into the table behind you, eyes scanning across the four holograms in front of you,

“Negative,” Rhodey answers, shifting in his spot of the hologram, “I’m going to try Europe, but that’s the best I can do,”

You nod once, tapping your fingers against the desk nervously, “Carol, are we still seeing you next month?”

“Not likely,” Carol moves her eyes to meet yours, now short hair blowing in her face, “You might not see me for a good while,”

“Figured,” You murmur, lowering your head and sighing. Rhodey looks between you and the superhero beside Rocket and Nebula, then clears his throat,

“I’ll let you know of any updates on Banner from here,” He steps back, his hologram vanishing from its device. You raise your head, watching Nebula and a Rocket along with a Wakandian solider leave their hologram frames,

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” Carol exhales, eyes staring at you and catching sudden tears, “Y/N, look at me,”

You do so, allowing your eyes to meet hers, forcing yourself to swallow down a sob in your throat,

“I’ll be home soon,” She promises, “Then we’ll get our own apartment together and no more superhero stuff for a while,”

“It’s just lonely,” You whisper, “Natasha is still upset about Bruce and Steve barely does anything anymore. My dad and Pepper are all worried about Morgan to bother with me,”

“They still love you,” Carol smiles, “I have to go now, promise to be safe,”

Your lips tug upwards, hand raising to hover over her hands hologram, “I promise,”

Carol smiles, hologram hand brushing your cheek, before she steps back and she disappears from your line of sight,

You drop your hand, bringing the back to your eye to wipe away a tear that had fallen,

. . .

“Dad, we both know what has to be done,”

Father-daughter fight. All parents fight with their kids, but not like this. Your arm holds its laser at your father feet away, rumble cracking underneath your foot at the edge,

“Exactly. You get away from that ledge and get the stone,” Tony snarls, your hand pressing the side of your helmet so it lifted and revealed your face, eyes blood shot from tears,

“I have to jump!” You exhale, “Pepper and Morgan need you, more than they need me,”

“And Danvers doesn’t need you?” Tony shoots, watching your hand slightly falter at the mention of the female captain, “She cares about you, just like I do with Pepper. You can’t just leave her like that, you promised her you’d be safe,”

“I can’t keep every God damn promise Dad!” You clutch your fist, free hand powering up, “I have to do this! It’s the only way to bring them back!”

You grunt out of irritation, shooting at Tonys leg so he had to move to the side to dodge, eyes looking forward and finding your figure vanished,

“Y/N?” Tony moves forward, eyes looking down at the cliff below, “Y/N!”

Stone glowing brightly in one hand, Tony forces his suit to fly downwards, stumbling on his feet and landing next to you, lifting your fragile body with trembling arms,

“Y/N, no,” Tony draws a hand over your cheek, choking on a rough sob that broke through his chest. Tony looks down, cursing at the timer on his watch and forcing himself away from you, disappearing into dust and leaving you in your own blood,

Present Time. Thanos has been defeated and the Avengers gather at the Stark home for the readers funeral

“Is it on?”

Carol thought she’d never see you again. But just after your funeral, Tony had asked for everyone to group into the living room of his home, announcing he had something from you,

Your blue hologram stood on the carpet, eyes looking off to the distant to your father off camera,

“Yeah, go ahead,”

Your eyes look forward, landing on Pepper and Morgan on the couch next to Tony and Peter,

“This is recorded the day before we go back in time,” You start, shifting in your spot and clearing your throat, “Um, I wanted to record this in case, I don’t know, anything happened,”

Carol tightens her crossed arms, eyes leaving your hologram to shut and blink away tears,

“First thing I wanted to say is for Carol,” The blonde opens her eyes at her name, glancing to your hologram as you shove your hands into your hoodies pockets, “I know we won’t be able to see each other for a while. You’re out doing God knows what to save other planets. I respect that. I just want you home so I know you’re safe,”

You tap your socked foot, rolling your shoulders, “This is harder than I thought,” You sigh, and glance over when Tony’s past self speaks up again,

“Want to try again later?”

You shake your head, looking back at the camera in front of you, “No. Carol, I don’t know what’s going to happen. It could be good, we’ll defeat Thanos and get that apartment we wanted, or something bad could happen,”

“But if something does, I want Dad to show this to you, hence the reason we’re recording this in the first place,”

“Ah,” You stop to cough, “I love you Carol. I hope you come home soon,” You shift again, then sink down into the chair behind you, “Pepper, Morgan...”

Tony stands up from his spot at the couch, blinking away his thoughts when he walks up to Stephen, who kept against the wall of living room,

“Can I talk to you?” Tony asks quietly, Stephen nodding shortly and moving around Bruce, following Tony onto the porch of his home,

“How else could this have all ended?” Tony asks blunty, Stephen looking out to the lake in the yard, your holograms voice heard inside,

“Bad or good?” Stephen looks at Tony, watching the mans face conjure with realization,

“What do you mean by good?” Tony snarls, eyes searching the wizards, “What other ways could we have won?”

“It happens almost the exact same way,” Stephen starts, voice calm, “Danvers gets the stones and snaps, everyone’s brought back,”

“Then what changed?” Tony’s hand grips at the porch railing, chest tightening, “Did my daughter survive?”

“Yes,” Stephen swallows, thickly, “Somehow she was able to get the stone with both of you remaining alive,”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Tony’s booming voice has Carol glancing over, staring at the two men just outside the door,

“I was dust!” Stephen exclaims, “Y/N just didn’t think of it and took her own path,”

“So it’s her fault?” Tony scoffs, “Without her dying you wouldn’t be standing here,”

“I know that,” Stephen sighs, eyes shutting,

“Then act grateful for it,” Tony pushes away from the rail, “Because my daughter is dead. And frantically, I would send you back for her,”

Stephen silently watches Tony enter the house again. He understood Tony’s anger- a father losing his child is a nightmare for every father.

“Tony? What happened?” Pepper stands up, the group around watching Tony brush her hand off his shoulder, disappearing up the stairs,

Their eyes move to Stephen, his eyes closing again as he leans into the rails, heaving a sigh,

Pepper moves her gaze to the wizard, eyes glossing over before following her husband with quick steps,

“Tony,” Pepper calls shortly, catching the door Tony attempted to close and moving into their shared bedroom, “Tony, what did Stephen tell you?”

“There was another way,” Tony gasps, eyes blurring over so his wives form was a blob of color, “Y/N lived. But we didn’t go that way,”

“Tony,” Pepper murmurs, hands sliding to his face and moving his gaze down to her, “I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. But Y/N’s gone, she wouldn’t want you so upset,”

“She’s gone,” Tony repeats, body breaking down into Pepper so her arms would wrap around his shoulders. A loud sob escapes Tony’s lips, hands clutching at Peppers black dress in hopes to ease the pain in his chest,

Your laugh brings Tony to open his eyes, the voice of your hologram easing the tension in his shoulders, “Morgan, make sure you keep dad safe for me Okay?”

“I don’t need to be protected,” Tony’s hologram snorts, Pepper subconsciously smiling and leaning back to look at Tony,

“Yes you do,” She whispers softly, “You need to be protected from this hurt. She wouldn’t want you hurting Tony,”

“I know,” Tony croaks out, eyes shutting tiredly, “But she’s my baby, Pep. Imagine losing Morgan,”

“But we didn’t,” Pepper smiles, “And I’m nearly a hundred percent sure Y/N’s happy that Morgan still has her dad even though she couldn’t,”

Tony nods, sliding away from Pepper to run a hand down his face and inhale,

“Do you want to go finish watching the video?”

Pepper smiles, taking Tony’s hand and following him downstairs to watch your hologram coincidentally meet Tony’s gaze, waving to him with a bright smile,

“I love you 3000 Dad. I mean it,”

A/N: EW that ended so baddd But PLEASE SEND ME CAROL REQUESTSSS

[memescomicswriting]

Brooklyn Baby

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Clint x Reader

Warnings: Age gap, lots of potty language, and implied sexy times

Summary: Your boyfriend is in a classic band. You work at a hot club in The City. Is your love enough to overcome his securities?

Masterlist

A/N: Clint’s in his early forties here. I don’t pay attention to cannon age Based off “Brooklyn Baby” by Lana Del Rey

--

The night was old but the bar ragged on. You didn't mind working as a bartender. The place was named SHEILD, after some old inside joke, and it was a nice club. You made good money from your boss, Tony. He was a generous man and insisted on paying the girls more for all the shit you had to put up with from drunk men. With tips from the high traffic flow of rich idiots and eager tourists, you lived comfortably. Some regulars were being taken care of by Wanda down at the other end of the bar. Regulars were people Tony deemed 'not the biggest asshole' that frequented enough to hold a VIP card. That left you with the drifters on the opposite side. This wasn't the only bar in the place and it wasn't the most central bar either. Your bar was on the open, inward-facing loft that looked over the stage and dance floor. Due to the acoustics, the music was awesome up there but not too loud because the speakers sat below you.

At first, your customers were genuine fans of music, but soon they shuffled out and the 'biggest asshole' type sauntered in. They didn't bother you much. They were too busy trying to impress their dates or the people they picked up bellow. When their guests became less enthusiastic they began to grumble about how they should've gone to club Hydra. You almost told them to go there, but you didn't think it was worth the confrontation.

Tony originally bought the club to relive the glory days of his band, the Avengers. It was comprised of his friends: Steve, the Captain; Natasha, Black Widow; Thor, Point Break; Bruce, Hulk; and Clint, Hawkeye. Tony, or Iron Man as he liked to be called, took it upon himself to give some of the staff and club friends nicknames too. Wanda was the Scarlett Witch for her red lipstick and wit. Her brother Pietro was named QuickSilver for his silver hair and his ability to move around the club quickly. You were girlfriend, but the name had no inappropriate connotation. It had everything to do with who you started dating after you began to work there. The Avengers played earlier in the night. Now the DJ controlled the stage and created mixes of their top hits. The place was decorated commemorating the band. The music was a little before your time, but your older siblings often blared the radios in their rooms with Avenger music. You knew most of the songs by heart at this point. Like your siblings' rooms, commemorative posters were all over. Each bar was themed with a band member. Tony's was the largest, central bar- go figure. Yours, in the loft above, was for Hawkeye. You didn't mind that at all. Your boyfriend was the lead guitarist in his band. You often found yourself singing along while he played at home. Usually, it was whoever inspired him. You liked it when he played Lou Reed. He liked to play things from the seventies because he was a seventies baby even if it were '79. A lot of his friends, outside his band, didn't understand what he got from being with you. Someone your age couldn't understand the time he came from or his taste in music. He was a free spirit and you tied him down by simply existing. You'd zoned out in thought of your boyfriend. God, was he so cool and attractive, and oh how you loved him. The growing calls brought you back to the present. "Yo, bar babe!" A thick and sweaty hand waved in front of you. You quickly repressed the disgust on your face. "Yes?" You asked in the nicest tone you could muster, which was decent. "Thanks for sparring some attention to your customers." The guy snickered. He was tall enough, built enough. His face a bit intimidating; enough to the point you decided lunging across the bar at him wasn't the best idea. "Another round of Bud Light pitchers." They already reeked of alcohol but they weren't exhibiting signs of needing to be cut off. "Sure." You quickly went on to get their order just to be away from them. When you came back with the fresh pitchers the guests with them turned up their noses at the drink. You couldn't blame them. Light beer was gross, to begin with, and mass quantities of Bud Light were the cheapest way to get drunk at a bar like yours. As the group of men called it, 'the pieces of ass' walked off, no longer wanting anything to do with them. It was a mix of pretty young girls and guys. They could do better anyway. Soon, they all began arguing about who was to blame for their guests leaving. The one who asked for the pitchers quickly became the center of the argument. Another member of the group, younger and somehow more greasy looking, sauntered up to you. "Yo Rumlow, get back here!" He was called back to the table but refused to return. "Hell nah, not with you hens clucking. I'm not wasting my time on your squawking, I'm going home with someone tonight." With that, he turned to you with the slimiest smile. 'Oh fuck no!.' Was all you thought while your eyes rolled. "Awe, now don't be like that baby." He crooned. "No." You replied shortly. He leaned over the bar. "Come on, I could treat you real good baby." You snorted at how dumb he sounded. "No." He didn't like that. His tone began to slip from icky charm to agitation. "What, you got a boyfriend? You're not a baby, you're a taken bi-" The call of your name interrupted your fist from flying into the guy's face. "Y/N!" It was the cheerful voice you never tired of hearing. Clint briskly walked up to the counter and leaned over for a quick peck. "Tony said he'd have Happy rope off the bar for the night so you could head home early." The Rumlow guy erupted in a vicious chuckle. "You gotta be kidding me baby. You're too young and cool for this washed-up loser. Do yourself a favor and leave with me." You saw Clint's jaw grind while the rest of his body stiffened. The nearly twenty-year age gap was a sore spot for him. No matter how many times you reassured him, told him you loved him age gap and all, he still felt insecure about it. Something in the back of his mind crept upon him from time to time, telling him he was too old to keep you happy. He feared you'd leave him one day. The New Yorker in you, specifically the Brooklyn in you, began rising from the depths of your personality. "Oh fuck off you mother fucking loser, My boyfriend is cooler than you'll ever fucking be. Get out of my bar you piece of shit." The man slammed his hands down on the bar but you didn't flinch a muscle. You were wound that tight. "The fuck did you just say to me you bitch." You slowed your words and annunciated for the dumbass. "Get out of my bar, you mother fucking asshole before I knock your ass on the ground." "Oh, your gonna pay for that you little slu-" Before he could finish his insult his ass was knocked on the ground, but not by you. Clint was hovering over him delivering punch after punch. Soon, the guy's goons were rushing over to get their boy. Clint was immersed in a mosh pit of jerkoffs, but it didn't phase him a bit. Despite their efforts to restrain him long enough to get a punch in, Clint was shrugging them off and delivering more grounding blows. When the original douche was up again and itching for a hit, Clint used the guy's own momentum to throw him behind and straight to securities feet. Coulson, and the rest of the bouncers he brought made quick work of collecting the rest of the goon squad. Soon they disappeared down the steps towards the entrance. They'd probably pass hands from club security to the usual cops stationed outside. Clint was a heaving, disheveled, and sweat smeared mess. And god was it hot! When he finally dragged his stare off the vanishing morons and onto you, his body started to relax. He looked down at himself and huffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry babe, but when I heard that name slip from his mouth with him leering at you like that, I saw red." You let out a good giggle. He was confused at first but accepted it when you hopped on the bar counter with a clean cloth to wipe down his body. "Don't apologize. That was fucking hot!" You poked his chest with seriousness. "Only thing that bothers me is that I didn't get to hit 'em." Clint's head tipped back as he roared with laughter. "You would be upset about that." He allowed you to continue cleaning him up until you were nearly done. He grabbed your wrists and held them to his chest. "But in all seriousness, you don't mind your senior boyfriend punching a jerk's lights out for yah?" His head cocked to the side as he studied your face for any hint of disgust. "Mind?" You scoffed. With his hands still on yours, you directed him to grasp your hips. "I'm turned on!" Before you could say more, Clint was between your legs and you were firmly ground into the counter. Your lips were locked in a searing kiss. Clint put a lot of pressure into this one. Teeth clashed and your lips swelled. His tongue slipped through your gasps to dominate every inch of your mouth. You had no air so when he pulled away you were gasping. You hiccuped as you tried to speak. From the grin plastered ear to ear, he enjoyed that. "And you're not a senior. You're barely forty and for barely forty I want to jump your bones every second of the day. So invest in some arthritis medicine for when you are old." Clint lifted you off the bar and plopped you on the ground, still pressed against him. "So I'm cool, huh?" You swatted his arm playfully. "Really?! That's what you took away from this?" "That, and you're horny." He nodded, being a little shit with his fake, nonchalant attitude. "Mhm..." You rolled your eyes with no subtlety. Then you pushed him off so you could get your purse from behind the bar. As you leaned over the wooden counter, you made sure your ass was in full show for your boyfriend. If Tony was letting you leave early then Wanda would be left to do your side of the bar; which was a mess thanks to those assholes. You left most of your tips for her as a thank you. "You're not as cool as me." You shouted to Clint, who was following behind you, still fixated on your rear. A satisfied smirk formed on your lips. "Damn straight!" He cheered. "Now let's go home so you can show me how cool you think I am. My Brooklyn Baby." Clint squeezed your sides which caused you to squeak. Again, you playfully hit him like you were annoyed. It was damn well clear that you were anything but annoyed with him. You were frustrated but in the best way. He was gonna get it when you got home or any place private enough.

[officialheroesofolympus]

Green-eyed Monster (Steve Rogers x reader)

HeroesOfOlympus: Heyyy y’all! I’m so sorry that I haven’t updated a fic for a month. This is actually my first fic of 2018 and I’ve been working on it for quite a while. I’m actually quite proud of it and I hope you enjoy it, as much as I enjoyed writing it! Happy very very belated New Year, wishing all of y’all the best for the year ahead! @starlightrogers Happy Galentine’s Day!!

Description: 4 times Steve got jealous and did nothing, and the 1 time he did. (Or, in simpler terms, basically Steve getting jealous before finally acting on his feelings.) 

Reader Gender: Female

Characters/Ships: Steve Rogers x reader, Brother figure!Tony Stark x reader, Implied!Sam Wilson x T’Challa, hint at Father figure!Steve Rogers x Peter Parker, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Very heated and descriptive kissing at the end, and major fluff

Side Notes: Slight AU for the ending as it’s set sometime after Civil War, except Tony and Steve never fought but did meet T’Challa and Peter Parker. Implied bisexual Steve Rogers and reader but can be written off as just them being drunk. Implied gay Sam Wilson and T’Challa as well.

Y/E/C: Your Eye Colour

1.

Squinting through the seemingly invisible gaps between the dancers, Steve muttered excuses as he wiggled his way through the sweat-stained bodies on the dance floor. He was on the receiving end of many dirty looks from those who were irritated that he had disrupted their dancing but he currently couldn’t care less. 

He had caught a glimpse of you at the bar over the heads of the moving bodies and although he was glad to see you, he certainly did not like who was standing next to you one bit. When he finally made it out of the ocean of dancing bodies, he spotted a skimpy-dressed woman standing extremely close to you, her hand trailing up and down your arm suggestively. 

To make it even worse, he took note of how your eyes flitted over to the woman touching you, the Y/E/C orbs seeming to sparkle under the light, bright with amusement and a hint of lust. Instead of kindly rejecting the woman, as he had hoped, you were reciprocating her feelings.

You had persuaded the usually uptight man to head over to the nearby bar to ‘get drunk as hell before hooking up’, much to his reluctance. For starters, he already despised modern day bars, what with them always having far too loud and suggestive music, and how overcrowded they always were. Adding the fact that your aim for the night was to get in a bed with a stranger who wasn’t him, made it even worse. 

Sliding into a stool a few metres away from you, he decided to wait for you in hopes that you didn’t end up occupied with that woman. Knitting his eyebrows, he tried to focus his attention onto the drink (that the bartender had delivered with a wink before insisting it was on the house) in his hand, ignoring the pounding music and the weird feeling in his stomach. 

It was as if his insides were getting twisted, tangled up in each other and forming knots. Accompanying it was this blazing fire igniting in him, spreading throughout him like, well, a wildfire. Clutching the glass in his hands, he flicked his head back, downing the alcohol in one gulp, wanting to get rid of the strange feelings inside of him and replace it with numbness. 

Swallowing the last drop, he still felt the tightness in his chest and knew the alcohol hadn’t done what he had wanted it to do. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his slicked back blonde hair, trying to look at anything except for you. However, his eyes betrayed his will, repeatedly flickering upwards, stealing glimpses from time to time. 

During one of his quick glances, he saw that the woman had moved dangerously close to you, her body pressed against yours as she hooked both her arms around you, pulling you even closer to her chest. Much to his pleasure, he saw how you chewed on your bottom lip, leaning as far away as you could from the woman. 

Once again, he sighed but this time, in relief, his shoulders loosening as the tension left them. A triumphant smirk gracing his face, he discreetly watched as you moved your arms up to the lady’s shoulders, shoving her forcefully whilst you shook your head, nose wrinkled up in disgust. Backing away from the woman, you turned on your heel swiftly, determined to get out of there as fast as possible. 

While you stomped towards him, he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked, even when you were angry. As you slammed your fist onto the table, sliding into the seat next to him, Steve nodded his head, absentmindedly listening to you rant about the rude woman who was previously flirting with you, too focused on how magical you looked under the flashing multicoloured lights.

2.

Hunched over the computer screen, Steve, along with the other soldiers assigned to this mission, attentively watched the live video playing in front of them. Their target sat at his desk, eyebrows furrowed as his fingers flew over the keyboard, punching in letters furiously, no doubt working on what had made him S.H.I.E.L.D’s target in the first place. 

Despite how desperate the agency was, they were not able to just kill the target and declare it mission accomplished this time. They needed him to confess to his crimes without harming him in any way or murdering him. After much research, S.H.I.E.L.D had discovered that the target was prone to spilling his secrets to any random stranger, as long as they looked a certain way. 

The person closest to the target’s ideal type was none other than you, which made you the best bet to accomplish this mission. They had managed to hack into the security cameras installed in their target’s bedroom and had assigned a group of soldiers, including Steve (much to his demand), as backup. 

Suddenly, the door to the main office slammed open, making the target’s head snap upwards, the reprimanding words dying in his throat when he saw who was standing in his doorway. Hearing low whistles around him, Steve hushed the team, not only for the sole purpose of wanting to listen but to tame the flicker of jealousy igniting inside of him, as well.

Focusing his attention back onto the screen, he had to control himself from breaking his aloof manner when he saw what you were wearing. He knew you were supposed to be scandalously dressed but he didn’t know you were going to be dressed in a leather black skirt that only covered half your thigh and a white crop top that clung tightly to your body. 

Swaying your hips, you strutted towards the target, the black stilettos strangely not making a sound on the floor. “Good afternoon, sir. What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bending over, you pretended to adjust the strap of your heel, which made your skirt rise up at the back. 

Steve, whose cheeks had turned a very bright shade of red at how much skin you were showing, had to restrain himself from barging into the room and compromising the mission by pummeling the target to death when he saw how the sleaze had eyed your rising skirt. 

Turning around, you flashed the man an innocent smile, full-well knowing what you had just done. It seemed as if all sense had been lost the moment you had stepped foot into the room as the man immediately blabbed everything to you, spilling all the secrets related to the project and giving you the confession you needed all around.

For a moment, you flashed a triumphant smirk before quickly wiping it off, replacing it back again with a carefree smile. “Well, I’ll be off then,” Hearing those words from your mouth, Steve let out a breath he had not known he had been holding, glad that you didn’t need to go any further than bending down to seduce the man. 

However, that contentment was short lived when the target had shot out of his seat, lunging forward to grip onto your wrist, forcing you to spin around right into his arms as he hungrily attacked your lips. That same green jealousy consumed him, ridding of all rationality he had as he directed his anger to the screen, smashing his fist into it and cracking the glass. 

If the target had been old or ugly, perhaps Steve wouldn’t have been as jealous as he was. Unfortunately, Steve had to begrudgingly admit, the man wasn’t that bad looking, he seemed around your age and looked like someone you would probably go on a few dates with. 

Blinded with rage, Steve threw open the door of the van, storming out of the vehicle, not even bothering to even come up with a half-hearted excuse to the soldiers as he walked off into the distance, hoping for his jealousy to simmer down. 

3.

This might be, perhaps, the dumbest person to be jealous of. He knew you and Tony were just best friends, in fact, he would go even as far as to say that you two were almost like siblings. However, the number of times you had canceled on your plans with him over Tony was just frustrating and caused that familiar feeling of jealousy to stir inside of him. 

It was always Tony this, Tony that, and the billionaire would always find some way to squeeze himself into any plans you and Steve made together. Don’t get him wrong, Steve liked Tony, no matter how infuriating the playboy could get sometimes. He secretly enjoyed Stark’s jokes and appreciated his ability to face any challenge with a grin. 

However, the war hero hated how easily and effortlessly Tony could just whisk you away from whatever plans the two of you made. Whenever you canceled on him, Steve always felt a spark of resentment not only towards Tony but you as well. 

You could have just as easily declined Tony’s pleas to join the both of you or simply inform the genius you already had plans but you never did. Despite how you were also partially to blame, he could never be angry at you for long. The moment you gave him a genuine apology with your eyes trained on the floor, shame and guilt worn on your face, he immediately forgave you. 

How could he not? 

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Steve picked at his food, pushing it around his plate absentmindedly as the chattering around him faded into the background. “Tony, could you help me order my food while I go to the toilet?” Your sweet voice brought the Captain back to reality as you rose up from your seat, leaning down to brush your lips against Tony’s cheek before sauntering towards the bathroom. 

Glaring long and hard at the spot where you had grazed your lips against, Steve didn’t even try to mask his displeasure this time, openly showing his distaste towards Tony. Noticing the enraged look Steve was shooting him, a familiar smirk made Tony tug up one corner of his lips, the crinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent as mischief danced in his brown orbs. 

“It’s funny, you know?” Tony let out a bark of laughter, leaning forward eagerly as he placed his neatly folded hands on the table. Seeing Steve’s raised eyebrow, Tony scoffed loudly while rolling his eyes. “You aren’t exactly very discreet with your crush on Y/N, no matter how much you think you are.” 

At first, he wanted to deny Tony’s words, maybe brush it off and laugh at Stark, make the billionaire believe that his theory was nothing short but wrong. However, seeing the raised eyebrow and conceited look on Tony’s face, Steve knew that no matter what he said, Tony would not back down from his accusations and stand by them firmly. 

Instead, the blond widened his eyes, scooting his chair nearer to the table, tilting forward as he looked at Tony with furrowed eyebrows. Eyes darting side to side, he made sure you weren’t anywhere near as he whispered sharply, “Is it that obvious?” 

Receiving a pair of rolled eyes as a response, Tony replied sharply with exasperation laced in his voice, “Of course it is! Everyone, even strangers, can see your crush on Y/N. The only one that doesn’t seem to be getting the hint is the woman herself.” 

Drumming his fingers against the table, Steve pursed his lips as his face remained void of emotions. “But I get why you would have a crush on her. She’s hot.” Tony stated bluntly, shrugging his shoulders at his offhanded remark as Steve found himself involuntarily clenching his fists in anger.

Before the captain could think of a rebuttal — that would definitely be said in a dignified manner and not show how affected he was by Tony’s statement — you approached the table with a beam on your face, and his mind went blank, all previous anger now forgotten. 

4.

Shooting his best ‘America’s-Golden-Boy’ smile, Steve was surprised at how genuine and easy it came to him. He had expected to use a fake smile, the type that he wore on his face at interviews with extremely rude reporters — strained, tired and downright fed up — but as ‘Spiderman’ approached him with nimble, hesitant footsteps while rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Steve had suddenly found himself excited to meet the young superhero again. 

“Sorry about that time at the airport,” The blond immediately apologised, reaching out a hand to give the young man a firm handshake. The masked hero forced out a hesitant laugh, involuntarily wincing at the recollection of how pain had repeatedly shot up his body whenever Steve either threw a punch or his shield at him. 

“As much as I don’t like the thought of a young man like you getting into battle with the possibility of dying, I have no right to tell you what to do, especially since I was only a teenager when I joined the army,” Steve mustered out a forced chuckle, giving a tiny shrug, his eyes glazing over as memories from his time in the war filled his mind, a faraway look now crossing his face. 

Bringing himself out of an unwanted memory, which consisted of the limp bodies of soldiers piled on top of one another and bathed in blood, Steve noticed with a slight jolt that the red and blue clad superhero was staring at him with concern. 

“Uh... Are you alright, Mr. Rogers?” The youth asked worriedly, peering at Steve anxiously while fiddling with some machinery attached to his wrists. Nodding his head, Steve gave a half-hearted wave and insisted, “I’m fine, just lost in thought. Thank you for asking, Mr-” The captain halted hesitantly, not sure how to address the young man in front of him. 

Yelping out a sudden ‘oh’, the teenager unintentionally started to speak so quickly that Steve could barely keep up with what he was saying, only managing to catch a few words and get the drift that the younger male was deciding whether it would be appropriate for him to reveal his identity. 

Finally realising that Steve had a puzzled expression on his face, the teenager simply sighed, muttering an apology before reaching his hands upwards to fumble with the ends of his mask. After a few whispered curses, the shorter male managed to tug off his mask, revealing a youthful face with the widest brown eyes Steve had ever seen. 

Embarrassed at how long he took to get off his mask, the brunet’s cheeks were flushed as he stuttered out, “I’m... Uh... I’m Peter! Peter Parker,” Shocked by how young Spiderman, Peter, looked, Steve tried his best to keep the expression on his face as blank as possible, all the while wondering how could Stark send a high school kid into a battle. 

“Ms. Evans?” Peter suddenly shrieked out, desperately trying to stuff his head back into his mask again. Turning around, Steve found himself staring at the most beautiful set of eyes, belonging to none other than you. Shaking your head, an entertained smile took over your face whilst you gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, drawling out Peter’s name slowly. 

Extremely confused as to what was going on, Steve watched you walk off, ignoring the questions he shouted in your direction purposefully. “That’s- Ms. Evans, my English teacher! Wait, she’s an Avenger? How did I-” Peter spluttered out helplessly, unknowingly answering the question of ‘how do you know Peter’ that Steve had been shouting to you previously.

Finally, the captain understood what all those hushed conversations between you and Tony had been about. Tony had sent you, the only Avenger that Peter had never seen yet, to the boy’s school to ensure his safety and observe him. 

“Makes sense why so many students think that she’s hot...” Peter trailed off dreamily, staring at where you had stood before turning around the corner. 

Expectedly, jealousy flared up in Captain America again and the thought of an entire high school of hormonal students pining after you flashed in his mind, giving him the urge to either bash his fists into a wall or force Tony to change your name to ‘Mrs. Evans’ in the school system.

“Welcome to the Avengers,” Steve forced the words out through his gritted teeth, faking his enthusiasm this time. However, when he saw the hopeful look of a boy trying to be treated and respected as a man, so similar to what he had seen in the mirror when he was younger, all traces of the green-eyed monster disappeared and an honest smile overtook the blond’s features again. 

+1.

Laughter filled the entire room as Tony finished recounting a joke, something Steve could vaguely remember being related to him. Honestly, he couldn’t recall a single word of what anybody had been saying this entire evening unless it had come out from your mouth or involved you. 

A fond smile found it’s way onto Steve’s face as he watched you laugh, your head thrown back and nose scrunched up in the most adorable way possible. If someone was to ask him what was his favourite sound in the world, it would be your laughter. It didn’t matter if it was loud enough to fill a room or soft enough to be considered a giggle, your laughter would always be melodious to him. 

“I can’t believe you did that!” You managed to choke out between laughs, your eyes bright with amusement and tenderness. Taking Steve’s flushed cheeks as embarrassment, a cheeky grin stretched across your face before you began another round of laughter. 

The rising smile on the blond’s face was immediately wiped off and replaced with a scowl when he saw Sam casually slinging an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer to him. Just when Steve thought things couldn’t get any worse, he watched as you curled your legs to the side, inching closer to Sam and practically nuzzling your cheek into his chest. 

When had this happened? 

At first, Steve’s heart had clenched in such a painful manner that he could easily say it was the most pain he had ever felt, and the man had suffered from a lot of fatal blows in his lifetime. But after the overwhelming sadness had hit him, he wasn’t surprised to feel a spark of jealousy that grew into a flame when you laid your head on Sam’s shoulder. 

The green-eyed monster seemed to have been visiting him more often recently and he knew if he didn’t act on his feelings for you soon, the jealousy would overtake his mind and the outcome would not be pretty. Clenching his fists in hopes of relieving some of his anger, he averted his gaze on you, not able to bear the longing looks being exchanged between you and Sam. 

Nonetheless, the moment he heard snickering from the other members, he turned his head in the same direction where everyone had trained their eyes on, only to catch you pulling away from Sam after giving him a lazy kiss on the cheek. 

The way Sam’s face literally lit up forced guilt to rise up in the blond’s chest. Sam was one of his closest friends and if he liked you, what gave Steve the right to stop the two of you from liking each other? He wanted the both of you to be happy. 

He didn’t own either of you and the two of you could do whatever you pleased, even if it meant each time you brushed your lips over someone’s skin, Sam’s skin, his heart would be torn apart all over again. 

Unfortunately, when Clint had fondly recounted a story of the time his children had played Truth or Dare, Tony piped up with the idea to play that particular game, with the intention to supposedly ‘feel young again’. 

Noticing the mischief that twinkled in the billionaire’s eyes as he glanced between Steve, Sam and you, the war hero grew wary, knowing that whatever was about to come out of the brunet’s mouth would ruin his entire evening even more. 

“Rogers!” Tony exclaimed, his slightly unfocused eyes from drinking too much couldn’t hide the calculating look he sent to the super soldier. “You in or out, old man?” Noting the way the genius kept sending everyone — apart from you and Steve — a smirk accompanied by crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the blond simply shook his head, not offering any excuse except for the disapproving stare directed towards the playboy. 

Deliberately rolling his eyes to annoy Steve further, Tony waved him off before the familiar glint returned back into his eyes, no longer phased by the former rejecting to play the game. Clicking his fingers in your direction, Tony asked, “Y/N, truth or dare?” 

“Do I look like I’m you, Stark? Dare.” 

Hearing the insult that came from your mouth, Tony started arguing with you, the fondness in both your voices giving away the fact that none of you meant what you said. The friendly banter ceased when Natasha gave an exaggerated huff, neither of you wanting to get on the assassin’s bad side. 

“Right, I dare you to kiss Sam on the mouth for more than ten seconds. Also-” The playboy was cut off by what sounded like a growl and indeed, when everyone turned in the direction of where the sudden noise had come from, they were face to face with their captain. 

Shooting out of his seat quickly, Steve casted Tony a heated glare and proceeded to storm out of the room, his squared shoulders giving away the fact that he, Captain ‘always remain calm and rational’ Rogers, was downright furious. 

A moment of silence settled amongst the rest of the Avengers before being broken by the sound of your bare feet padding against the floor, following the same route the footsteps before you had taken, and leaving the rest of the team behind.

Finally, you arrived at the top of the building, immediately drawn to the towering figure that stood out against the night backdrop. Approaching the figure, you ran your hands up and down your arms, the cold night air sending shivers coursing throughout your body.

“Steve, are you alright?” Peering at him anxiously, you caught the corner of your bottom lip with your teeth unconsciously, unaware of the pink forming on the man’s cheeks. Trying his best to ignore the pounding of his heart, Steve managed to choke out a ‘yes’, averting your steely gaze by pretending to be invested in the night scenery around him.

However, the thought of your lips pressed hard against Sam’s suddenly flashed in his mind, scarily vivid and almost as if it was happening right in front of him. “Actually, no,” Steve stated, the fear, of never knowing the possibility of whether you returned his feelings, taking control of his actions.

Too late to turn back now, the soldier ran his fingers through his hair nervously, disbelief flickering in his eyes at the thought of finally professing his longtime feelings for you. Trying to delay the inevitable, Steve slipped off his sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitting shirt underneath.

With red tainting your cheeks, you silently cursed, yet at the same time, thanked whatever or whoever made Steve always wear such shirts. 

“Here, you seem cold,” The blond uttered while passing over his hoodie, the unbelievably soft material grazing your fingers before enveloping you in warmth. Muttering a half-hearted thanks, you were far too distracted by the pine and cinnamon scent surrounding you, coming from the clothing just passed to you.

Chastising yourself to focus, your eyes were suddenly filled with warmth and concern, and Steve barely managed to hear the question you had just asked, too engrossed in soaking up the view right in front of him; you drowning in his sweatshirt, with the moon shining behind your head, acting as a halo to an actual angel.

“So, what’s wrong?” Reaching out a hand, you ran your thumb on the back of his hand, mustering a comforting smile directed at him. “I...” Steve trailed off, gulping down the words he had planned to say to you for months, no longer confident of confessing to you.

Suddenly, the image of you no longer in his sweatshirt but in Sam’s invaded all the thoughts in his mind and the familiar flare of jealousy lighted inside of him, ridding of all traces of insecurity and replacing it with an utmost confidence, and a tad bit of aggressiveness.

Curling his fingers around your wrist, he pulled you towards him abruptly, wrapping his other arm around your waist, forcing your bodies to mold against one another comfortably. Red danced across his vision as Steve found himself smashing his lips onto yours, both arms now firmly gripping your waist.

When he felt you kissing back just as eagerly, he was only furthermore encouraged and pressed his lips harder, delight filling him as you both fought for control, consoling him that he wasn’t the only one who was invested in this and you were as equally optimistic as him.

He could feel your hands running up and down his back, and as nice as it felt, the only thing that he could concentrate on was the warmth of your lips, and how inviting it felt. However, when Steve was able to feel your teeth pressing against his, he realised how aggressive the kiss was and immediately pulled away.

Heart speeding up, he felt a twinge of pride when he saw how flushed your face was, your loud breaths filling the silence between the two of you. With his hands still coiled around your waist, he felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, in sync with yours, noticing how you were both equally worked up.

“I’m guessing you like me?” You teased, using this opportunity to cover up how breathless you really were. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Steve tried his best to smother the moan that was building over every passing second you spent tangling your fingers in his hair.

Running his tongue over his slightly bruised lips from feverishly making out with you, a shiver went down your spine as you watched him. “I’ve liked you since the very moment I laid my eyes on you and loved you since the very moment I spoke to you," The Captain looked at you with half-lidded eyes, which barely covered up his fully blown pupils and the adoration shining in them.

Heat rose to your entire face yet again just when the blush from the kiss had begun to subside. Resisting the urge to squirm under the intensity of Steve’s blue eyes focused on you, you opted to draw your lip in with your teeth, unknowing of what that simple action did to Steve.

Steve’s groan was muffled as he leaned down to mold his lips with yours again, the kiss the complete opposite of the previous one. It was as meaningful as the first one except slower, which allowed both of you time to savour the feeling of each other’s lips on one other and how perfect they fitted together.

Humming in approval against Steve’s lips, you made a sound similar to a whimper when the man pulled away from you once again. “Wait, so does this mean you like me?” Steve asked bashfully, genuine confusion in his eyes.

Unable to stop the laugh that bubbled out of your throat, your eyes shined with love as you answered back plainly with no hesitation. “Steven Grant Rogers, I love you. I’ve loved you for the longest time and will continue loving you for the rest of our future,”

“Our?” The blond asked in awe, his eyes wide whilst he soaked in the information, not able to believe that his dreams were finally coming true. Your giggle rang in Steve’s ears as you nodded in response, tugging the man towards you to draw him in for another kiss.

(++1

“I thought you like Sam?” Steve managed to breathe out between kisses and you shook your head persistently and firmly in response. “Sam? We're just friends. Besides,” You laughed, giving Steve a playful nudge. “He's interested in T'challa. Very interested,”)

[heidi-g-blog1]

Ideo’s David Kelley on “Design Thinking”

The smell of ramen noodles wafts over the Stanford d.school classroom as David Kelley settles into an oversize red leather armchair for a fireside chat with new students. It’s 80 degrees and sunny outside in Palo Alto, and as the flames flicker merrily on the big computer screen behind him, Kelley, founder of both the d.school and the global design consultancy Ideo, introduces his grad students to what “design thinking” — the methodology he made famous and the motivating idea behind the school — is all about.

Today’s task: Design a better ramen experience.

Some students seem a little mystified, as they twirl noodles around their chop sticks. What does a “ramen experience” have to do with design? Better packaging? Curlier noodles? Adding a cute little forky thing to the cheap staple of dorm rooms everywhere?

Kelley, a lanky guy with a bald head, a Groucho Marx mustache, and a heartland-bred affability, tackles the mystery head on: “I was sitting at a big dinner in Pacific Heights recently, and I told my hostess I was a designer. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So what do you think of my curtains?’ ” That, Kelley says, is not where we’re going.

“You’re sitting here today because we moved from thinking of ourselves as designers to thinking of ourselves as design thinkers,” he continues. “What we, as design thinkers, have, is this creative confidence that, when given a difficult problem, we have a methodology that enables us to come up with a solution that nobody has before.”

“We moved from thinking of ourselves as designers to thinking of ourselves as design thinkers. We have a methodology that enables us to come up with a solution that nobody has before.” — David Kelley

It is a radical notion, in its way: the idea that creativity can be summoned at will, with a process not unlike the scientific method. That contradicts what most people — including the 50 students sitting mesmerized before him — have always thought. “That to be creative, an angel of the Lord appears and tells you what to do,” Kelley says, laughing.

Ideo — which now counts more than 500 employees in eight offices on three continents — has drawn on Kelley’s methodology to do everything from stimulate customer savings at Bank of America to revamp nursing shifts at Kaiser Permanente. Over the past 30 years, the firm has tackled the challenge of delivering a needle-free vaccine for Intercell, building a better Pringle for Procter & Gamble, revitalizing the bicycling experience for Shimano, and rethinking airport-security checkpoints for the TSA. It has racked up more than 1,000 patents since 1978 and won 346 design awards since 1991, more than any other firm. The design-thinking process underpins the company’s near $100 million in annual revenue, drawn from a client roster that has included Anheuser-Busch, Gap, HBO, Kodak, Marriott, Pepsi, and PNC, among hundreds of others. Ideo has, in short, become the go-to firm for both American and foreign companies looking to cure their innovation anemia.

Until about a year ago, Kelley, the man at the epicenter of this expanding universe, was on a roll. He had received a National Design Award, been inducted into the National Academy of Engineering, held an endowed chair at the Stanford School of Engineering, and even won the Sir Misha Black Medal for his “distinguished contribution to design education.” Cara McCarty, curatorial director of the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum, summed up his influence: “Kelley has pushed our definition of design more than anybody in this country.”

He also had a loving wife, a daughter to whom he was devoted, and a vast circle of friends that included Apple’s Steve Jobs and actor Robin Williams.

Then, one morning, he noticed a lump on his neck.

Kelley was helping a fourth-grade class at his daughter’s school use design thinking to create better backpacks when his cell phone rang and his doctor’s number came up. He stepped out to take the call. “You have cancer,” the doctor said. “Just like that,” Kelley recalls. He went back into the class to finish the lesson but, he says, “I was a mess.”

It was stage-four squamous cell carcinoma, which had gone misdiagnosed — as “inflamed fish gills” — for a year and a half. During that time, it had migrated to his lymph nodes. “I could tell by looking in people’s eyes that this was a big deal,” he says.

Preliminary tests looked worrisome, but Kelley, an optimist, figured that with good energy and good medicine, he could prevail. Then his oncologist sat him down and gave him the statistics: He had a 40% chance of being alive in four years. “That was the moment,” Kelley says. “As an engineer, you say, ‘Show me the data. This has got to be for older people.’ So the doctor looks at the chart and the median age is 56. I’m 56. So it’s right on me.”

What ensued was sheer hell. Chemo, surgery, radiation. Mouth sores. A throat so raw he could barely swallow. Nausea so severe he couldn’t concentrate enough to read or even watch TV. “I spent nine months in a room trying not to throw up,” he says. The treatment wrecked his saliva glands and his taste buds. He lost 40 pounds.

Kelley, now 58, says his wife, Kc Branscomb, a former CEO of IntelliCorp whom he met through his buddy Jobs, was masterful at orchestrating his care, marshaling doctors, haranguing insurance providers, keeping on top of appointments, medications, and daily life. But, Kelley says, it was his brother, Tom, who got him through the rough patches psychologically. “Here’s a guy I shared a room with for 18 years,” he says, choking up. “Basically, he gave up his life to be there for me every day.”

David asked Tom to negotiate his relationship with the world, alerting friends that his brother wasn’t up to communicating with anybody. “More than 100 people came to me and said, ‘I know David’s not talking to others, but he’ll talk to me. I’m a special friend,’ ” Tom says.

It was the thought of his 11-year-old daughter that kept Kelley fighting through the lowest moments. “At first, you think, ‘I don’t want to miss her growing up.’ That’s motivating, but not that motivating,” he says. “It’s when you manage to get out of yourself and start thinking of her that you get the resolve to continue. When you think, I don’t want her not to have a father — then you want to stay alive.”

In the recovery phase, Kelley was assigned a psychiatrist. “When they tell you that you don’t have that many more years to live, you ask yourself, What is it that I want to get done? What is it that’s going to make me feel good?,” he says, sitting in a neo-yurt at Ideo’s Palo Alto headquarters. “Given a finite amount of time, how do I spend it?” Kelley and the shrink began parsing his days, calibrating which activities were the most satisfying. “The punch line is that one of the things that’s really fun for me is Ideo,” he says. Working at the firm he built fits into Kelley’s lifelong mission: “I really do believe I was put on the planet to help people have creative confidence,” he says. “I don’t have 27 agendas. I’m not the sustainability guy, or the developing-world guy. My contribution is to teach as many people as I can to use both sides of their brain, so that for every problem, every decision in their lives, they consider creative as well as analytical solutions.

“The illness has given me more resolve to do that.”

When Kelley got sick, his friends were desperate to find ways to help him, sending cards, movies, cartoons. John Maeda, formerly the associate research director of MIT’s Media Lab and now president of the Rhode Island School of Design, built a Web site with a picture of Kelley at the White House, surrounded by other 2001 National Design Award winners — all with Kelley heads — under the banner, EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE DAVID KELLEY.

“David is the kind of person you aspire to become,” says Maeda. “He’s like a brainy Muppet. You want to hug him, stick by him, and support what he stands for. He doesn’t wear a fur stole or sunglasses. He’s like the guy you run into at the 7-11 getting a Slurpee. I like the idea that he’s an anonymous superstar.”

Watching Kelley, in his jeans, flannel shirt, and striped socks, shuttling between Ideo and Stanford in his greenish-yellow ’54 Chevy pickup, you’re more likely to think he’s a Sacramento tomato farmer than one of the country’s great design minds. (A self-confessed “car nut,” Kelley also has a ’67 Ferrari, a ’57 Porsche, and a ’32 Ford in his fleet.) Even as a boy growing up in Ohio, Kelley saw the world from a different angle. “David believes he was a geek,” says Tom, the youngest of the four Kelley siblings and four years David’s junior. “But it’s not true. He had his own rock band, for chrissake! Even then he was a rock star.” At the town line, there’s now a sign that trumpets, YOU ARE NOW ENTERING BARBERTON, HOME OF DAVID KELLEY.

After graduating from Carnegie Mellon, Kelley took a job at Boeing, where he designed what he calls a “milestone in aviation history”: the 747’s LAVATORY OCCUPIED sign. He eventually moved to National Cash Register (now NCR) in Ohio, a similarly dispiriting experience. Fate intervened during the 1973 — 1974 oil embargo, when Kelley met a guy in a car pool who told him about Stanford’s product-design program. “Without the oil crisis, David may have spent the rest of his life as a very capable but moderately unhappy engineer,” says Tom.

At Stanford, Kelley met his mentor, Bob McKim, a pioneer in using experiential psychology in design. “I had an intuition I couldn’t survive corporate America,” Kelley says. “I hated the hierarchy and just wanted to work with my friends.”

In 1978, Kelley and some of his Stanford pals banded together to launch a design and engineering firm, and opened for business over a dress shop in downtown Palo Alto. In 1981, the firm created the mouse that controlled Apple’s graphic interface. Its descendants are still in use today.

Silicon Valley was a great place for a restless mind like Kelley’s to soak up ideas on how innovative companies work, from HP’s iconic culture to Xerox PARC’s breakthroughs in marrying engineering and social science to Apple, where the idea that business is a mission reached full flower.

In 1991, Kelley’s firm merged with two others — those of Bill Moggridge, who had designed the first laptop computer, and Mike Nuttall, whose skill was in the visual design of technology products — to form Ideo.

A cluster of buildings on a side street near Palo Alto’s business district, Ideo’s headquarters look like a cross between a cool Montessori school and a crash pad circa 1970. There are tubs of markers and easel pads of paper everywhere; Post-it Notes litter the walls of conference rooms. A gum-ball machine, xylophone, and Tickle Me Elmo lie nearby, critical elements in the latest company prank, a global Rube Goldberg contraption, which began with a coin drop in Palo Alto and bumped and rattled its way, with occasional electronic leaps, through the company’s seven other offices. A vintage Volkswagen bus has been converted into a meeting area, complete with beach chairs on the roof.

The playfulness of the place is utterly intentional, an outgrowth of Kelley’s conviction that children are naturally creative — at least until the educational system beats it out of them. To test out his theory, Kelley has several educational programs going at local schools to try to teach children to be as adept with their right brains as with their left, and he’s fond of quoting British educator Sir Ken Robinson on the topic: “Creativity is as important in education as literacy.”

As much as Kelley loves teaching, though, he knows that his ideas can attract more powerful acolytes — and be disseminated more widely — through business: “If the goal is to change the world, the business part changes the world faster.”

What’s remarkable about Ideo is that it’s constantly reprototyping its own business model much as it would those of its clients. From its early work designing tech products for Silicon Valley, it moved to designing experiences, and it’s now on to tackling the hurdles that prevent design solutions from getting traction within an organization. But even as that expertise evolved, Kelley struggled to explain it. Ideo was pushing its clients forward, using something it called design, but what the firm was really doing was more transformational. “Just like a fish doesn’t know he’s wet,” he says, “we didn’t realize that our real contribution was that the companies we worked for didn’t think like us. And when they did, it really had a lot of advantages for them.”

In a meeting with Ideo’s CEO, Tim Brown, in 2003, Kelley had an epiphany: They would stop calling Ideo’s approach “design” and start calling it “design thinking.” “I’m not a words person,” Kelley says, “but in my life, it’s the most powerful moment that words or labeling ever made. Because then it all made sense. Now I’m an expert at methodology rather than a guy who designs a new chair or car.”

“They went meta on the notion of design,” says Roger Martin, dean of the University of Toronto’s Rotman School of Management, referring to the shift from object design to focusing on organizational processes. “They concluded the same principles can be applied to the design of, say, emergency-room procedures as a shopping cart.”

While the “deep dive” ethnography that Ideo uses as a foundation for its process has since become table stakes for most top-tier design firms, Martin says Ideo was among the first to recognize that to redesign a customer experience, you also have to redesign organizational structures, culture, etc., or you won’t produce the experiences you want.

Design thinking represents a serious challenge to the status quo at more traditional companies, especially those where engineering or marketing may hold sway. Patrick Whitney, dean of the Institute of Design at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT), who sends many of his graduates off to Ideo, says he sees this resistance all the time. “A lot of my students have MBAs and engineering degrees. They’re taught to identify the opportunity set, deal with whatever numbers you can find to give you certainty, then optimize.”

But some problems need to be restated before a big, new idea can be hatched. It often helps to take the problem and break it apart, before putting it back together in a whole new way — the synthesis or abstraction step. That’s where the creative leap often occurs and what Ideo’s process is designed to unearth.

It took Kelley a while to appreciate the power of stepping back before forging ahead. In the mid-1980s, he says, he used to write proposals with the various phases of the process — understanding, observation, brainstorming, prototyping — priced separately. Clients invariably would say, “Don’t do that early fooling around. Start with phase three.” Kelley realized that the early phases were where the big ideas came from — and what separated his firm from a bunch of management consultants. “That moment was really big for me,” he says. “After that, I’d say, ‘No way, I won’t take the job if you scrap those phases. That’s where the value is.’ “

Now, all of Ideo’s projects employ the process, whether to redesign water pumps for developing countries, or to devise a music service for (RED). Marriott recently hired the firm to overhaul its TownePlace Suites, a chain of mid-range extended-stay hotels. The company had originally hoped to set the chain apart with snazzier, more guest-friendly lobbies. But after hanging out in the hotels, Ideo staffers discovered that guests were reluctant to be seen in the lobbies at all. “If you’re hanging there, it means you basically have nothing to do,” says Bryan Walker, the Ideo team’s project leader. “They were really sad spaces.” The happiest guests were those who’d managed to bond with the larger community — by joining a nearby tennis club, finding a church, frequenting a restaurant. That led to a brainstorming session on how to make TownePlace feel more like a temporary home. One result: a giant wall map of the local area that highlights guests’ favorite discoveries, and not only introduces newcomers to the area but also spurs conversation among them — itself a community builder. Skeptical franchisees were trotted through a prototype built in a San Francisco warehouse, and won over. A year after the rollout, guest satisfaction with the new lobbies has increased 16.8%.

Procter & Gamble, too, has been seduced by Kelley’s ideas. With CEO A.G. Lafley leading the expedition, for example, the company’s entire 40-member Global Leadership Council has twice come to Ideo headquarters for a total immersion in the firm’s process. “Our senior management was blown away,” says Claudia Kotchka, former vice president for design innovation and strategy. “They learned that design is more than aesthetics, and that there are different ways of solving problems than the analytical methods that most disciplines teach.”

Still, despite the P&Gers’ enthusiasm in Palo Alto, once they got back to Cincinnati, ideas created in the design process kept getting stuck as they ran smack into the commercial side of the business. This frustrated Kotchka, who called in Kelley, Rotman’s Martin, and IIT’s Whitney to help her find a way to break the deadlock. Over the summer and fall of 2005, the three came up with a prototype of an integrated approach that took a product team through the design process all the way through the impact on strategy. What’s more, they trained the P&G employees to facilitate such programs on their own.

“Our dent in the universe doesn’t mean we have to do all the digging,” Kelley says. “We empower our clients. We teach them to fish.”

Kotchka says there are now more than 100 internally trained facilitators within P&G. “It’s amazing how the process scales,” Kotchka says. “We try to use it not just for products but for how we work together, how we organize, and how we develop processes.”

The Ideo School for Anglers taught similar tricks to the giant West Coast health-care provider Kaiser Permanente. After a hugely successful 2004 project that Ideo conceived to improve information transfer during nurse-shift changes, the firm’s philosophy inspired Kaiser’s own innovation center. Recently, that facility tackled the problem of medication error, and using Ideo’s techniques, deployed a team to shadow nurses, doctors, and pharmacists as they prescribed, filled, and administered medications to patients. In the U.S. alone, more than 1.5 million people are harmed by medication errors annually; Kaiser’s information — videos and journals — from the observation phase revealed that interruptions were the main driver behind errors. The team took that insight and brainstormed solutions ranging from streamlining the process for medicine delivery to protecting the process from other employees. They then prototyped tools — including aprons that said LEAVE ME ALONE! and red DO NOT CROSS! lines in front of pill-dispensing machines — that could solve the problem.

The program has been so successful — reducing interruptions by 50% and increasing on-time delivery by 18% — that Kaiser is now rolling it out to its 36 facilities and responding to inquiries from around the world about its effectiveness. “Kaiser Permanente has always been innovation driven,” says Christi Zuber, director of Kaiser’s innovation consultancy, “but Ideo gave us a teachable approach.” It’s hard to imagine McKinsey giving away its proprietary techniques, but Ideo’s largesse is in sync with Kelley’s mission — and with his confidence in his own company’s ability to reinvent itself. “I can give our methodology away,” he says at a staff meeting on Ideo’s future, “because I know we can come up with a better idea tomorrow.”

Besides his mania for cars, one of Kelley’s primary design passions is his house, designed by his late friend Ettore Sottsass, the founder of the design collective Memphis. It’s a sprawling, eclectic masterpiece with multiple, asymmetrical wings: a green one shaped like a Monopoly house for his daughter; a two-story, barrel-vaulted office for his wife; a blocky guest house, where Kelley spent most of his time while he was sick.

In 1983, Kelley started a small business with Sottsass linking Italian design with Silicon Valley technology (their product — a phone — made it into MoMA but failed in the marketplace), and he understands the frequent criticism that American design is inferior to European. “The rest of the world defines design as an artistic discipline,” he says. “They were taught culture. I wasn’t taught who painted anything. So as Americans, we’re at a disadvantage.” But while Americans may be underrepresented at the Milan Furniture Fair, he says, the United States has something few other countries can match: diversity. The way Kelley sees it, our polyglot populace gives us an extraordinary advantage in generating truly creative ideas.

That idea was one of the animating forces behind the d.school — a place that would help analytical Stanford types become creative thinkers. The school would welcome students from business, law, education, medicine, engineering — the more diverse, the better.

In recent years, universities across the country have developed an obsession with cross-disciplinary collaboration. One of the foremost success stories, the James H. Clark Center for Biomedical Engineering and Sciences, is right on the Stanford campus. Still, it took eight years for Kelley to convince Stanford that his unconventional idea — a school that grants no degrees, but functions as more of a specialized graduate program — had merit. “When David was making the case for the d.school at Stanford,” says Tom Kelley, “he went to [university president John] Hennessy and said, ‘Look, we’re good at “deep.” We have Nobel Laureates drilling down into esoteric topics. But what if there are problems that aren’t solved by deep, but broad? We should have a side bet in broad.’ ” In that climate, Kelley’s notion finally began to find an audience. By 2005, he had persuaded Hasso Plattner, a founder of the software giant SAP, to pony up $35 million to the d.school. The new 42,500-square-foot home of the Hasso Plattner Institute of Design, smack in the middle of the Stanford campus, will open this fall.

“Programs like this are absolutely necessary if the U.S. wants to maintain its position in innovation,” says Plattner from his company’s headquarters in Walldorf, Germany. “For many products, it’s a mandatory strategy for survival. And David’s so passionate, he can even motivate me.”

Kelley is still a bit astonished at what he has been able to pull off at Stanford. “I’ve been here 30 years, and nobody paid any attention to me at all,” he says. “At one point, they were trying to reduce the size of my office — which was 78 square feet. Now I’m sitting in meetings with the president, with him asking if I want another building.” Hennessy is now talking about making creative confidence a requirement at Stanford, just like a foreign language.

Whether or not design thinking revolutionizes the world and all its ramen experiences, Kelley’s influence is sure to live on in the institutions he has built and the people he has touched. “David’s legacy is that he spends his life doing things he believes in, with people he believes in, with the abiding faith that it will lead to good things,” says Dan Bomze, CEO of CleanWell and a former Kelley student. “From David, I’ve learned that there has to be someone to create something out of nothing. He embodies that. But he makes people feel he couldn’t have done it without them. Anybody who spends time with him comes away transformed.”

“From David, I’ve learned that there has to be someone to create something of nothing,” says a friend and former student. “David embodies that. Anybody who spends time with him comes away transformed.“

As for Kelley, he’s currently cancer-free, energetic, and full of plans. But every six months, he has to submit to a scan to make sure the disease has not metastasized. It’s a terrifying reminder that, as for all of us, life is short.

“So I sit here today,” he says, leaning forward in the shelter of the Ideo yurt, “knowing there’s a chance it could come back. So I better make some hay. I better get my religion in place in as many people as I can. It’s working really well.”

https://www.fastcodesign.com/1139331/ideos-david-kelley-design-thinking