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theconstantsidekick · 1 month ago

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Avengers: Age of Ultron ft. Static (5) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Angsty as hell

Summary: Steve just found out his girlfriend, Y/n Stark, has powers that are powerful enough to swallow the world whole. The Maximoff girl poked the bear, Y/n snapped, and now it’s raining trauma, trust issues, and pink lightning.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, yet to be codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Some Actual Violence but not bloody

a/n: was i supposed to be working on the next part of thunderbolts*? yes. was i moved to write this simply because of an edit i saw? also yes. the heart wants what it wants, alright?

Avengers : Age of Ultron ft. Static (4) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“Cap!”

Steve hears someone calling for him, distant but insistent, cutting through the haze of music—his and Peggy’s song.

He doesn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Wake up!”

Not yet.

“Cap, wake up!”

The moment he opens his eyes, the world slams into him. His ears are ringing. His body feels heavy, sluggish. He squints against the dim, flickering light and flexes his jaw.

A figure hovers over him.

“Sorry,” Barton mutters. He almost sounds like he means it.

Steve brings a hand to his face, fingers brushing his jaw. The pain is dull, but Barton’s got a hell of a right hook.

With a groan, he pushes himself up.

“We gotta move, Cap,” Barton urges, offering a hand. Steve takes it, steadying himself as he stands. “The Hulk’s out.”

Steve exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders, pushing past the lingering fog in his mind. “Where’s Romanoff—?”

Barton cuts him off. “She’s down.” Before Steve can protest—not sure to what—Barton adds, “Tony’s already trying to contain the Hulk—”

“But—”

“We’ve got a bigger problem.” Barton’s voice is grim.

Steve’s stomach tightens. “Bigger than the Hulk?”

Barton hesitates. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

“Spit it out, Barton. While I’m still young.” There’s a joke in there somewhere. He doesn’t think this is the right time to point it out, though.

And clearly neither does the man in front of him, because then Barton straightens. “Your girlfriend has superpowers none of us knew about.” His expression gives away absolutely nothing. “And whatever the Maximoff girl did—it set her off.”

Steve feels like he’s been hit. Not just punched—wrecked.

Y/n.

His Y/n.

And just like that, everything clicks into place. The moments of hesitation, the way she always seemed to almost tell him something before changing the subject. The way her eyes darkened when certain topics came up. The nights he caught her awake, lost in thought, as if she was carrying a weight too heavy to share.

He knew she was keeping something from him.

But he never thought it would be this.

Not powers. Not something so big.

A sharp pang hits his chest—betrayal, confusion, something deeper, something uglier.

Why didn’t she tell him? Did she think he wouldn’t understand? That he couldn’t handle it?

Or was it worse than that?

Did she choose not to tell him? Did she never plan to?

And then another thought creeps in, colder, heavier: Has anything between us been real?

Barton keeps talking, oblivious to the way Steve’s world is tilting beneath his feet. Or maybe all too aware of it…

“When I woke Thor up, I told Tony I was sending him to help with the Hulk,” Barton says. “Tony said—” He clears his throat, a nervous tic more than anything. “He said our best bet at handling the Y/n situation is our heaviest hitter.”

Steve forces himself to focus, even as his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“What are you saying?”

Finally some emotions bleed through, Barton’s face is tight with something close to guilt. “I’m saying Tony thinks if we don’t stop her now—and I’m quoting him here—she’ll swallow the world whole.”

Steve’s stomach turns. That can’t be right. This would mean that she doesn’t just have powers, no. They are so catastrophically strong that the God of Thunder might be the only solution.

And Tony doesn’t exaggerate when it comes to threats. If he said those words—swallow the world whole—then whatever’s happening, it’s bad.

Steve swallows hard, forcing the mess of emotions down, locking them away like he does everything else. He can’t afford to feel this right now. There’s no time for the pain gnawing at his ribs, the panic clawing at his throat.

If Y/n is out there, if she’s a threat, then he has to stop her.

Even if it kills him.

His grip tightens around his shield. “We have a location?”

“Fifteen clicks west.”

“Civilians?”

“None. It’s a forest.”

Steve nods and turns, already moving.

“Cap.” Barton’s voice stops him mid-step. He doesn’t turn, but he listens. “I think she made a conscious decision to head to the forest.”

Steve exhales.

That means something.

He doesn’t know what yet, but it means something.

Without another word, he presses forward.

He’s not entirely sure what he was expecting to see when he got there, but he knows it wasn’t this. He couldn’t have ever imagined this.

The clearing hums with a strange, unnatural energy.

Steve slows, boots digging into the soft, torn-up earth. Trees sway like they're caught in a silent storm, the air thick with a pressure he can feel in his bones. Every step forward feels heavier.

And then he sees her.

Hovering above the ground, balanced on disks of pink light, the space beneath her feet warped and shivering. Above her, the sky itself has been torn open—a portal stretching wide, pulsing with static and colors not meant for human eyes. The sound it makes isn't quite thunder and isn't quite wind. It's deeper. Older.

And wrong.

Thor is already there, hammer in hand, charging the storm around her with lightning. He tries to push through, to reach her, but the energy shielding Y/n tosses him back like he’s nothing more than a leaf in a gale. Each time he rises again, a little slower.

Steve clenches his jaw.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t react.

Her head is tipped slightly back, her eyes a glowing, vacant pinkish-white, like she’s trapped in some nightmare she can’t wake from.

He should move.

He should call for backup, even if he isn’t sure what good that would do.

He should think like a soldier.

But he just stands there for a beat longer, looking up at her, feeling something crack open in his chest.

He'd seen her fight before—grit, quick reflexes, faster with her mouth than her fists most of the time.

But this—this wasn't fighting.

This was power. Raw, terrifying, uncontainable.

Tony’s words in Barton’s voice echo in his mind: Swallow the world whole.

He believes it now.

He believes it because he can feel it—the way the earth trembles under her, the way the sky itself recoils.

And even knowing all that... he can’t help but think she’s beautiful.

Not soft, not gentle.

Beautiful like a storm is beautiful. Like a wave big enough to drown whole cities.

The part of him that had seen a quiet future once—a dance in a hall with a woman in red lipstick and kind eyes—aches in the back of his mind.

A part of him still reaches for that simplicity, that life he left frozen in time. A part of him reaches for…

No.

No. No.

There isn’t time for that right now.

Steve tightens his grip around the shield, forces himself to move, even as the storm claws at him.

“Y/n!” he shouts into the howling static.

For a moment—barely a flicker—her head turns.

He sees it.

He knows he sees it.

She's still in there. Somewhere.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

He sets his jaw and pushes forward, straight into the storm.

“Y/n!”

His voice tears through the static, cracking like thunder.

No answer.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. The disks of light beneath her feet pulse once—sharper, harsher—and the storm ripples outward, blowing him back a step.

“Y/N!” he roars, lungs straining, but her eyes remain fixed on something far away, something not of this world.

He stumbles forward, shielding his face from the wind that bites like shrapnel. The pressure is crushing. Like gravity itself is breaking.

Off in the distance, across the clearing—Thor rises.

Steve barely catches the blur of him lifting off the ground, a streak of light and fury as Mjolnir crackles with divine charge. He hurls it straight into the heart of the storm.

It strikes the shield around Y/n with a boom that splits the sky.

The energy buckles—just for a second—then rebounds violently, sending Thor hurtling through the air. He slams into the ground fifty feet away, carving a trench through the earth.

Steve instinctively moves, breaking into a run.

“Thor!”

The god of thunder groans, lifting himself slowly. Steam rises off his shoulders. His cape is torn.

Steve reaches him, helping him to his feet. “You alright?”

Thor nods, slow and shaken, brushing dirt from his armor. “I’ve fought in plenty of wars throughout the galaxy—” his gaze lifts toward the woman floating above the chaos, “—but I have never seen power like this.”

They both look up.

Y/n remains motionless in the eye of the storm. Unreachable. Unshaken. A figure of light and fury, crowned in something ancient and unrelenting.

Steve’s voice drops. “She’s in there.”

Thor says nothing. But his silence isn’t doubt—it’s fear.

“She’s in there,” Steve repeats, as much to convince himself as anyone else.

Bzzzt.

“You’re right, Cap,” Tony’s voice crackles through the comm. No jokes this time. Just a tight, clipped breath. “She is.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. “Stark, what the hell is going on?”

“Hell is the correct word,” Tony answers. “Listen, I’m a little busy keeping the Hulk from giving the skyline a face-lift, so I’m gonna make this quick.”

There’s static, then a breath that sounds like he’s somewhere dark, somewhere wrecked.

“She’s not in control,” Tony says. “Not even close. The teenage mutant emo witch scrambled her head like an egg, and whatever’s spilling out now? It’s not just power—it’s memory, fear, everything she’s spent her life locking up. It’s all coming loose.”

Steve glances up again at the storm above her, the portal yawning open like a second sky.

“She didn’t want this, Steve. Not like this.”

He says it fast. Like if he slows down, he won’t be able to keep talking.

“You’re the only one who might still get through to her.”

“It should be you,” Steve says. Quiet. Stubborn.

“I can’t,” Tony replies. Fast. Final. “Not now. Thor’s the only one strong enough to hold her off. And I’ve got front-row seats to the Hulk’s rampage—only thing standing between him and a civilian bloodbath is me and the suit.”

Another pause. Quieter now. Almost—almost vulnerable.

“She’ll listen to you.”

“You’re not looking at what I’m looking at,” Steve tells him, looking up at the sky.

“Damn it, Rogers! She’ll listen to you because it’s you!”

Well, shit.

When they first got together, Tony kind of hated the whole thing. It was never a secret that Tony kind of hated Steve, and by extension hated the fact that his sister didn’t.

Steve got it. It was practically tradition—you’re supposed to hate the guy dating your sister. He respected that. Still does.

Over time, Tony mellowed into something resembling acceptance. Not thrilled, not supportive—but he’d tease Y/n, make gagging noises whenever he caught them being soft, throw barbed comments Steve’s way with just enough bite to be brotherly.

Steve never expected more than that.

He ever expected Tony to fully accept it—accept them.

But now it seems, he already had.

Tony’s voice drops to a near-whisper. “You gotta bring her back, Rogers. Before we lose her.”

Damn it.

He steals himself.

He clenches his fists and turns to Thor. “Can you contain the fallout? Make sure she doesn’t get closer to the city?”

“I can try,” Thor states, sounding fairly more sure than his words would signify.

He nods. “Alright, you go do that.”

“And what will you do?” Thor asks.

“Something I was desperately good at before we started dating.” Steve looks off to his left, up high. “I’m gonna try to get her to look at me.”

With tasks divided, both of them head off in the opposite direction. Thor flies up into the sky, meanwhile Steve begins climbing up to a cliff—the closest he can get to her.

All he can think of as he climbs is—

Why didn’t she tell me?

His fingers dig into the rock, half from effort, half from how damn loud the question is inside his head.

Was it him? Did he say something? Do something?

Did she think he couldn’t handle it?

No. No, he’d told her—he’d said she could talk to him. That he wanted her to. He meant it.

Unless she didn’t believe him.

Unless—she never really planned to tell him at all.

That thought hits harder than he expects. His foot slips for half a second, sending a scatter of pebbles down the cliff. He catches himself.

Maybe he should’ve pressed harder. Pushed past the dodges, the jokes, the way she’d always shift the topic when he got close. The way she’d laugh, look at him knowingly over a beer bottle, and say, “Don’t go digging, Rogers. You might not like what you find.”

He hauls himself up another ledge.

The insomnia. The nights she couldn’t sleep, staring at the ceiling like it was screaming at her. The way she flinched—just slightly—when anyone mentioned powers. Or Hydra. Or the word control.

Suddenly, and all at once, he remembers the look on her face—at the hospital after Fury’s assassination. Wide eyes. Ashen skin. Terror, sharp and visible, when someone said Winter Soldier.

He remembers the bridge. The ambush. The way she stood between Bucky and everyone else, not afraid—furious. Vengeful. Familiar.

The lawyer who somehow knew exactly what Hydra did to his best friend.

She always knew too much.

Before he did.

Before anyone did.

But he didn’t want to pry. He told himself people get to keep their secrets. That she'd tell him when she was ready.

He thought that was kindness.

Maybe it was just cowardice.

Because deep down, he knew. He knew. She was holding something back. And he let her.

He let her.

And now here they are.

The world split open like a wound and she’s at the center of it.

His lungs burn. The wind howls. His heart’s somewhere between furious and aching.

And yet—

She’d offered. She’d asked him to move in with her. Her exact words—God, it was what Tony

had guessed: “I happen to have a place. You should move in.” She sounded so timid—he’d never ever seen her timid before.

And he said no.

Because he didn’t want to impose.

Jesus Christ.

He makes it to the top of the ridge. Stands. Wind clawing at his suit. Shield strapped tight.

Up ahead, Y/n is still hovering in the storm. Surrounded by chaos. Held aloft by raw, terrifying light.

You didn’t trust her with your baggage either, he thinks.

You said you liked Brooklyn. You said you didn’t want to impose.

Maybe she heard that loud and clear.

He doesn’t know who he’s mad at. Himself. Her. The world. Ultron. Fate.

All of it.

None of it.

She’s not the Y/n he knows right now—but he’d know her anywhere.

And he has no goddamn idea what to say.

But he knows he has to say something.

“Doll,” he calls out—soft, shaky.

No response.

He steadies himself, plants his feet against the wind. “Doll!”

Her head twitches, barely a flicker of recognition.

And then—

“Steve?” Her voice is small. Timid. A child lost in a storm. Like she’s afraid of what she might find if she looks.

Steve's heart damn near breaks.

“Doll, you gotta stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer, even though the cliff edge ends and there’s nothing beneath him but air and chaos. “You—you gotta stop, please, baby. Please.”

“I—” She looks around suddenly, like she’s seeing everything for the first time. Or maybe nothing at all. “Steve—I—” Her eyes are wide, wild, wrong. Like she’s stuck between two realities, slipping in and out of something he can’t see. Her breath catches. “I… I can’t,” she finally chokes out.

“You can’t what, doll?” he asks gently, carefully, like she’s a spark about to go off.

“If I—if I stop—if I stop—they’ll find me,” she breathes. “I can’t let them take me again, Steve. I can’t go back!”

“Doll,” he says, firmer now. Grounding himself like she’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart. “Baby, listen to me—”

He steps toward her again. No ledge. No plan. Just her.

She’s hovering, suspended in light and terror and something ancient clawing at the seams of reality—but she’s an arm’s reach away, and if it’s her, you best believe he’s gonna try.

“Listen to me, alright?” he says. “No one’s taking you anywhere.”

“No!” she screams, and the sound fractures the air like a bomb going off.

Lightning arcs out from her fingers. The portal behind her pulses—uglier now, twitching like a raw nerve. The trees behind him shatter. Her body jerks like she’s trying to contain something inside and failing, miserably. “I won’t go back. I’m never going back!”

“Y/n…” he says again—quieter, like he’s scared his voice might break her more.

And just like that—her rage collapses.

It folds in on itself and slips into something horrifyingly fragile.

Tears spring to her eyes, and when she speaks again, her voice doesn’t belong to a god.

It belongs to a girl.

“You don’t understand, Steve,” she whispers. “I can’t go back. I won’t—I barely made it out the last time. And if they find me again—if I go back—I don’t think I’ll survive this time.”

Her hands are shaking.

Not glowing.

Not clenched into fists.

Just shaking.

She’s trying to shrink herself smaller. As if that might save her from whatever her mind is showing her.

And Steve—Steve has never seen her afraid before.

Never.

She’s been furious. Ruthless. Sarcastic, reckless, impossible.

But never scared.

Not even when they were surrounded by aliens on the streets of New York. Not even when they were on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. which was secretly infiltrated by Hydra. Not even when he asked her once, stupidly, if she was okay and she shot back, “Do I look like I need saving, Cap?”

But this—

This is fear.

Raw. Childlike. Crippling.

And it wrecks him.

He still doesn’t know what she’s seeing. What the hell Wanda’s spell has done to her mind. Who she thinks is coming for her.

But he knows this.

He knows how to hold the line.

And he knows what it means to stay when someone’s falling apart.

“Hey,” he says, voice shaking. “Y/n, look at me.” She does. Barely. “I need you to hear me, alright doll?” The wind hisses low around them, a breath held by the world. “As long as I’m here—no one’s gonna touch you. No one’s gonna find you. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.” She shudders. Her lip trembles. “I swear to you,” he continues, “on my life—on the shield, on Brooklyn, on everything I’ve got left—I will keep you safe.”

Y/n shakes her head slowly, tears streaking down her cheeks, catching faint glints of light from the storm above.

“You don’t know that,” she whispers. “You can’t promise that. You can’t protect me—not from them. I—” Her voice breaks. “No one can.”

The wind picks up again, as if her fear fuels it.

And Steve, God help him, just smiles.

Soft. Steady. Like he’s been handed a suicide mission and decided it sounds like a good afternoon.

“Come on, doll,” he says gently. “When have you known me to turn down a challenge?”

She stares at him.

Still afraid. Still not fully here. Like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if what’s waiting below is safety—or another trap.

But for the first time since this nightmare began—

She’s looking at him.

And in her eyes, something wavers. Something flickers.

Not power.

Not rage.

Recognition.

Steve takes a step closer—slow, deliberate, like approaching a wounded animal, or something holy. He lifts his hand—not reaching, not yet. Just holding it out.

“Come on, doll,” he says softly. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Her lower lip trembles. Her eyes fill all over again.

But she nods.

Small. Barely there. But real.

Steve breathes. Not relief—not yet. Just enough to keep going.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, voice quiet, fierce, and impossibly tender. “I promise, baby.”

The portal groans above them like the sky itself is exhaling.

Y/n floats, barely stable now—like her body’s starting to remember gravity. Like the nightmare is splintering at the edges. She looks down at him, eyes shimmering with a pain so old, it feels fossilized.

“Why are you even here?” she whispers. Not accusing. Just… tired. Broken. Small. “Why are you still here?”

And that’s it.

That’s the question.

The answer he’s been holding in his chest since before the tower, before Sokovia, maybe even before he knew he’d fallen for her at all.

Steve steps closer, hand still outstretched. His shield long forgotten at his back. Just a man now. A man in love.

“Because I love you,” he says.

No hesitation. No heroics. No shield between them.

“I love you, Y/n. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ll always be here.”

Her breath catches. A choked, fragile sound.

And he says it again—like a vow, like a lifeline, like it’s all that’s keeping the sky from falling: “You’re safe with me.” He extends his hand, palm up, steady in the howling wind. “I promise.”

Y/n looks at it.

Then at him.

Slowly—instantly—the power radiating off of her begins to fade.

The shield of pink static peels back, dissolving like fog at sunrise. The air clears. The storm silences. Even the sky seems to be holding its breath.

Her eyes meet his.

She reaches.

So does he.

Fingertips outstretched.

Inches away.

“Barton? You have the shot?” Tony’s voice crackles over the comms.

Steve’s body goes cold. “What?”

“I do,” Barton answers, steady as steel.

Y/n flinches mid-air, still reaching.

“Take it,” Tony orders.

“No!” Steve bellows—but he’s too late.

The arrow hits with a dull, sickening thunk, embedding itself in her neck.

She gasps.

Her hand jerks mid-motion—never quite reaching his.

Her face contorts in pure disbelief. Then heartbreak.

“You… promised…” she whispers, not even trying to hide how shattered she is.

The pink disks beneath her feet sputter out.

And then—

She falls.

“Y/n!!” Steve’s shout is raw, broken. He dives without hesitation.

He catches her in midair, arms wrapping around her as they plummet. His shield snaps beneath them just in time—he twists their bodies so she lands on him, not the earth. The impact roars like thunder.

They hit the ground. Hard.

Dust and wind rise around them in a choking spiral of silence.

She’s not moving.

He’s still holding her.

That’s the last thing he remembers until he jolts awake in the Quinjet.

“Run and hide?” Tony’s voice filters in through the haze.

“Until we find Ultron, I don't have a lot else to offer,” Maria Hill replies over the comm.

“Yeah. Neither do we,” Tony mutters, and ends the call.

Steve blinks hard. Then the memory slams back into him.

“Y/n!” He sits up fast—too fast. Pain screams across his back and ribs, but he doesn’t care. “Y/n? Doll?”

“She’s fine, Cap. Jesus,” Tony snaps from behind the cockpit, where Barton is flying the jet. “Calm the hell down before you open up something you just broke.”

Steve’s already scanning the jet.

Banner’s a few feet away on the floor, pale and shaking, wrapped in a thermal blanket. Natasha sits close beside him, silent but watchful. Thor stands off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest. His armor is streaked with dirt, one knuckle bleeding. He doesn’t speak.

But he’s watching something.

Someone.

There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze—concern etched into the hard lines of his face. Worry he’s not bothering to hide.

Steve follows his line of sight.

And that’s when he sees her.

Y/n.

Lying still in the makeshift med bay at the rear of the jet. She’s got an IV in one arm, a sensor clipped to her finger, and a faint red mark blooming near her neck where the tranq hit. Someone’s tucked a blanket around her legs. Natasha, if he were made to guess.

She looks… small.

It’s in such high contrast to the force of nature he’s used to, such a far sigh off from the woman radiating power that had Thor shaken, and for a second, Steve forgets how to breathe.

He is on his feet in a heartbeat. “Calm—Are you fucking kidding me!?” he explodes, rounding on Tony. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we needed to contain her,” Tony shoots back, voice clipped and sharp. He doesn’t even turn around—just stays seated, facing forward.

“I had it under control!” Steve insists. “She was listening. She was coming down.”

Tony finally turns, slow and deliberate. The smirk on his face is hollow and sharp. “And what if she changed her mind? What if the next surge brought that forest down? You have absolutely no clue the kind of blast radius she’s capable of encompassing.”

That shouldn’t upset him, but Steve’s hurt all the same. “You said I was the only one who could help her!”

“And you did!” Tony claps once, mocking, bitter. “Mission accomplished, Cap. What do you want—a medal?”

“What I want,” Steve is fucking enraged, “is an explanation as to why you didn’t fucking tell me about your goddamn contingency plan of shooting at my girlfriend?”

“Your gir—” Tony’s enraged too now. Steve can see it. He knows they aren’t related to each other by blood but in this moment their resemblance is uncanny. “It was a fucking tranquiliser, Rogers. I didn’t tell Barton to put a bullet in her head.” Steve’s blood runs cold. He thinks he might just have to fight her girlfriend’s brother. But then Tony adds, “Which is what she would have wanted.”

Motherfucker.

“How can you say that—?”

“He can say that, because he knows me,” comes a frail voice from the corner of the quinjet. His eyes turn to Y/n instantly. He rushes over before he can even register her words. But then she turns to Tony and continues, “And it’s what he should have done.”

“Fuck off,” Tony dismisses, strong and forceful.

“That was the contingency plan we agreed on,” Y/n accuses with what Steve presumes is all the venom she can muster in her weakened state.

“I didn’t agree to jack shit! It was your contingency plan, not mine! And it was fucking stupid contingency plan!” Tony bites back, matching her beat to beat.

“Tony, you know it’s the safest way out! I could have—”

He cuts her off, finally pissed enough to get to his feet. He stares her down, “You could have burnt the whole world to the ground, Y/f/n and I still would not take the goddamn shot. I am not going to put you down like a rabid dog, ever.”

And that’s when Steve sees it—he sees Tony break. He’s loud, he’s practically yelling. But his eyes… Tony’s eyes reflect the same emotion hers did when they were out on that field—it’s fear. Crippling, debilitating, paralysing fear.

This wasn’t Tony choosing strategy. It wasn’t control. It wasn’t ego.

It was the only thing he could do to keep her alive.

Even if it broke every bone in his body to make the call.

If nothing else, Steve gets at least this much.

Apparently, so does she it seems. Because she sighs then. Her stance changes, so noticeably, so drastically that it throws Steve off.

“Alright,” she says easily, still feeble. “Alright.” She nods at him, just once. An unspoken invitation. But Tony hears it loud and clear. He walks over to her slowly. She pulls him into a hug—protective, firm. She wraps her arms around him like she’s anchoring him in place. Tony hesitates. His hand hovers behind her back like he’s still not sure this is real—like he might crush her if he holds on too tight.

She ruffles his hair gently.

That’s all it takes.

He holds on like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You did good, Tones,” she says to him softly, kissing him on the temple. “You did good,” she reassures him. “It’s over now. Okay? It’s over now, peanut.”

And then her eyes lift, meeting Steve’s over Tony’s shoulder.

No words.

But everything’s said anyway.

That nothing will ever be the same between them again.

Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

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theconstantsidekick · 4 months ago

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Avengers : Age Of Ultron ft. Static (3) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Idk what this is called. Ego stroking and Fluff?

Summary: The question of the hour is, who is Y/n Stark's favorite Avenger? Is it Tony Stark, The Iron Man, her brother? Or Steve Rogers, Captain America, her boyfriend? Everyone's dying to find out.

Warnings: Drinking, Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Bullying

a/n: there is a chunk in there about tony that i absolutely loved writing the shit out of. so tell me what you think, please. comment!

When Y/n and Steve walk in, most of the guests have dwindled away. Leaving only the Avengers in the room.

Bruce is sitting on the couch, leaning over to talk to Natash on the armchair to his left. On Bruce’s other side sits Sam, on the backrest of the couch and below him is Clint, on the floor, fiddling with drum sticks—which she has absolutely no clue about the origins of. Maria’s right there next to him, on the floor, heels abandoned to the side. Tony’s standing by the bar, pouring a couple drinks, she’s presuming for himself and her. Rhodey’s taken the seat on Maria’s right, meanwhile Thor’s half lying on the couch opposite Clint and Maria.

However, the best addition to all this is Helen Cho, sleeping peacefully in one corner of the room, while the rest of them chat away.

“Hey, hotshot!” Sam yells the moment he spots her. “Who’s your favorite Avenger?”

“I heard you put your money on Tony,” she throws back very easily as she walks over to meet Tony at the bar. Steve, on the other hand, seats himself between Rhodey and Thor. “Worried you’ll lose?”

Before Sam can respond, however, Natasha speaks up, “Oh, he’s definitely losing.”

Y/n and Tony share a smile as he offers her the drink, then together, they head back to the centre of the room and join these crazy kids at the table.

“Why, Romanoff, you seem mighty confident for a girl who calls me a puzzle she can’t solve,” Y/n remarks, taking a seat on the armchair next to Thor while Tony sits down next to Rhodey. “Who’d you pick?” She knows the answer, she just wants to hear it. Stirring shit up is afterall, a Stark’s favorite family bonding activity.

Natasha makes a face like it should be fucking obvious. “Steve,” she says.

“Ah,” Y/n nods. “You think those baby blues work on me in the bedroom, so they must work on the field too?”

“No,” she counters with a smile. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you talk about him, not just Steve Rogers, the boyfriend but Steve Rogers, The Captain America. You admire him.” She adjusts herself to look right at Y/n as she adds, “You might be a puzzle I can’t solve, but I know this much, the baby blues work wonders on you. He’s it for you.”

The statement made is utterly true, and it makes Y/n want to look over at Steve for his reaction. But she’s frankly very afraid of what that might be, so chooses not to. Instead she barely sets her glass down to respond before Clint points a drumstick at her like it’s a gavel of absolute judgment.

“Baby blues can take a damn hike. It’s definitely Tony,” he declares, spinning the stick between his fingers. “It’s the law. Blood over boyfriends.”

“First of all,” Rhodey cuts in, with a cunning smirk, “we don’t even know if she picked anyone.”

“Please,” Sam scoffs. “That smile? That’s the smile of someone who’s already made a choice and is just waiting for us to catch up.”

She does smile. Because he’s right.

“Exactly,” Thor agrees, raising his drink like he’s toasting her superior intellect. “And the answer is clear! The bond of siblings is forged in the stars. Little Stark would never betray her brother.”

“Okay, first of all—” Tony interjects, pointing dramatically, “thank you, Point Break. Second, she would betray me, but only if it were funny.”

She raises her glass to him in silent agreement.

“That’s adorable,” Bruce says dryly, “but the answer is Steve.”

Hill hums. “Yeah, no. I’m gonna have to side with the Norse God on this one.”

“Exactly!” Clint inflates, seeing the tides turn his way again. “You can’t just disregard decades of Stark sibling history for some—” he gestures vaguely at Steve, “—muscles and morality situation.”

Steve, who’s been quietly sipping his drink, raises a brow. “Some muscles and morality situation?”

“I mean… accurate,” Y/n muses.

It makes Steve turn to her and pass a look.

‘Really?’ he asks her wordlessly. ‘Really.’ she replies with a smile.

The exchange goes unnoticed by the rest, who are still dead set on their debate.

“See?” Natasha smirks. “It’s Steve.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, no, no. Y’all are forgetting the key factor—who puts up with Y/n’s bullshit more?”

“Tony,” Clint says immediately.

“Steve,” Natasha counters, just as fast.

Bruce lifts a hand. “Steve literally chose this. Tony was born into it.”

“Oh, so it’s voluntary suffering that makes someone her favorite?” Maria deadpans. “That’s the logic we’re going with?”

“You’re acting like loving Y/n is some great hardship,” Tony says, putting a hand to his chest like a martyr. “It’s not, okay? It’s a privilege. A spectacular pain in the ass, but a privilege.”

Steve snorts into his drink. She just winks at him.

Bruce sits up then, “If we’re going purely by scientific method—”

“No one asked for science, Doc,” Sam cuts in.

Bruce is undeterred. “—she gravitates toward Cap in high-stress situations. It’s a subconscious preference.”

She tilts her head, intrigued. “That a fact, Doc?”

“It’s an observable pattern,” Bruce nods.

Tony scoffs. “Or, and hear me out, it’s just that Steve’s built like a brick wall and happens to be standing in the way most of the time.”

Steve sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here.”

Rhodey, having had enough, finally leans forward, aiming to end the debate. “You’re all wrong, by the way.”

That gets the room’s attention.

“Oh, this should be good,” Tony says. “Go on, War Machine. Who do you think it is?”

Rhodey smirks. “Neither of you two, that’s for sure,” he states with finality.

“How’d you figure that?” Steve asks, curious.

“‘Cause whenever you tell her to pick favorites, she answers with the most out of pocket shit—for instance, you ask her what her favorite Star Wars is, and you’d think she’ll say Empire or Return of the Jedi, right?” Everyone nods. Rhodey just shakes his head and looks at her, encouraging her to answer.

“A New Hope,” she obliges.

Groans sound out across the room, with complaints to boot.

But Rhodey smiles triumphant. “See?” He takes a sip of his drink, “It’s neither of you, trust me.”

“This proves nothing,” Clint counters. “Other than the fact that she has questionable taste—which seems to be the pattern,” he says looking at Steve.

Steve sighs, put upon. “You didn’t even know we were dating until an hour ago.”

“Which is absolutely wild to me,” Y/n chimes in. “You thought the kiss I gave him after the mission was purely platonic? Or did you think I kiss all the Avengers like that?”

“I knew you guys had a thing! I just missed the part where you made it official,” Clint defends.

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Sam butts in.

“Despite being hopelessly blind, Barton’s logic is sound,” Thor says then. “Choice made in Midgardian movies holds no bearing whatsoever on her choice of favorite Avenger.”

“You know what? We could go back and forth on this till the cows come home,” Tony states. “Let’s get right to the source instead.” He turns to her with a smirk and anticipation clear in his eyes. “Ready for it, Stark? Question of the hour…” the anticipation builds. “Who is your favorite Avenger?”

She lets the question hang in the air for a second, taking the time to leisurely sip her drink.

But then she looks up at him between her lashes and says, “Sorry, handsome.”

Steve, as expected, is gracious in his defeat. His head falls, as if he’d seen this coming a mile away, but he doesn’t quit smiling. She apologises to him silently with her eyes, and he forgives her all the same.

Tony, however, is anything but gracious in his presumed victory.

“Before you start celebrating—it’s not you either, dickhead,” she speaks up, putting a damper on Tony’s celebration howl.

He turns to face her instantly, “Then who the fuck is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Y/n asks, only to be met with silence. So, she answers her own question, “It’s Widow.”

“Out of pocket shit,” Rhodey reiterates, with a winning grin.

“Bullshit!” Tony slumps. “That’s a diplomatic answer you just made up, to avoid picking between the two of us,” he says, pointing from himself to Steve.

Y/n makes a face, “You wish.” Her tone is standoffish enough to get Tony off her back immediately. She takes another sip of her drink, having accomplished that goal. “She’s the only woman on the team and she’s one who keeps all you miscreants in check… which while not an easy feat, is not why she’s my favorite Avenger.”

“Alright,” Sam chimes in. “I’ll bite,” he announces, as if he’s volunteering to be the sacrificial lamb. “Why is she your favorite Avenger?”

She smiles. “You boys…” she begins. “You had greatness thrust upon you…” she looks around the room, just for good measure. “She stole it.” She takes another swig—takes her time with it too. “Please understand,” she begins, meaning every word, “I’m not trying to negate the fact that you guys had to go through some real fucking horrible shit to get to where you are today. I’m not just proud, but grateful to be associated with each and every single person in this room.” She needs to make sure that they mean it, so she pauses to let them soak in the words. And then adds, “But she’s different.”

She clicks her tongue, “I mean, she’s done her fair share of bad things. I’ve read her files and man, it’s really not good—some of it is bordering on grotesque. Frankly, I am surprised they didn’t redact more shit then they already had—”

She’s cut off by the voice of someone clearing their throat.

Her eyes fly to meet the offending party only to come up with a smile.

Natasha’s looking at her intently, face completely and utterly unreadable.

“But,” Y/n says then. “But…” She licks her lips, and straightens, and addresses Natasha directly when she begins anew, “To be able to face your past… to look back at your history, so marred and maimed by your misdeeds… and then to say ‘To hell with it. I am going to be good, now’, that—that takes the kind of courage that only someone with balls of steel could accomplish.” Her smile slips out, she can’t help it.

When she looks around, the rest of the team is smiling too.

She composes herself. “The way I see it… being good—is not inherent…” Her eyes meet Steve’s as she adds with a smirk, “Unless you’re Steve fucking Rogers…” Steve smiles back at her. “It’s a choice you make,” she states, tone far more grim, a stark contrast to the one she’s used thus far. “Every single day, with every single decision.” She swallows thickly with the weight of her words. After a beat, she scoffs—a little self-deprecatingly, “So, I’m not gonna sit here and say being good is easy—it really fucking isn’t, especially when it counts.” She knows that just as well, if not better than most of the people in this room. “But it is easier when you’ve been taught the difference between right and wrong,” she tells all of them. “She wasn’t. She chose to learn it, all by her lonesome… and then she stuck to it… And that is why, she is my favorite Avenger.”

There is a stunned yet warm silence in the room.

She can tell that everyone’s taking in her words, running it in their heads again, just to grasp it better. So, she lets it hang.

Tony, obviously, is the one who breaks it, “My God, that was a great answer. I—I mean, fuck! That was eloquent and emotional and very well thought out, and now I just feel like an asshole.”

“Don’t have to feel like an asshole, Stark,” she says leaning back into her chair. “You already are one.”

Tony just rolls her eyes at that. “Eat a dick, Halle Berry.”

She chuckles at that.

“I don’t mean this as an insult but,” Bruce pipes up, “I’ve never seen you like this before. I didn’t think you could…” He cuts himself off, clearly at a loss for the right word.

“Emote?” She supplies.

“Yes,” Bruce agrees immediately.

She snorts. “Yeah, well. I can…”

“Just takes a few drinks for her to get there,” Tony adds on with a cheeky smile as he comes to sit opposite to her on the couch next to Steve.

Clint’s instantly on alert. He pretends to cover his mouth and whisper-yells at Sam, “Get the woman a refill!” Sam, always happy to have a big emotional moment, obliges eagerly. It makes her roll her eyes with a smile. “Hey, Y/n?”

“Yes, Clint?”

“What do you think of me?”

The question shocks her a bit, she won’t lie. Clint and her interactions have been few and far between. She’s not holding that against the dude as such, seeing as the only time they ‘hang out’ is during a mission. It is a fucking fact. She can’t run away from it either.

“You really wanna know, Barton?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” Clint throws back at her while Sam offers him a fresh glass, a repeat of her drink.

With a wordless thanks bid to Sam she turns back to look at Clint.

And she can tell, he’s expecting something standoffish. A joke, maybe? But yeah, she can tell he thinks it’ll be a throwaway compliment at best and a complete dismantling of his worst habits at worst.

Well, isn’t it great then that she absolutely loves proving people wrong.

She sits up again, “No one asked you to do this.” The statement kicks the smug look off of his face instantly. Fucker, she thinks to herself, a little triumphantly. “You spent a long time in Black Ops, so taking up the S.H.I.E.L.D. gig would have been an easy choice, but no one ever asked you to go fight aliens.” She almost jumps in her seat, her words emphatic, “Especially, when their leader had mindfucked you seven ways to Sunday! No one would have held it against you if you decided to just take a day.” She clicks her tongue, “But you didn’t. You got back up and you fought fucking aliens.” She looks him straight in the eyes, “You’re just a man, Barton, and you fight with Gods… to most people that makes you a hero, but to me that makes you a terrifying role model.” Y/n can clearly see the moment that the words hit Clint with their full force. She thinks she can even see his chest cave with the weight of them. “You keep this team grounded. You keep ‘em human. You keep ‘em together.”

Silence.

For a second.

Then another.

And then, “Fuck!” Clint exclaims. “I mean… No, yeah. I mean, fuck. Cause, fuck!” Y/n laughs. “I thought you didn’t even like me.”

Her face falls instantly. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I like you?”

“I don’t know?” Clint defends, poorly. “You don’t talk to me.”

Her nose scrunches up. “No, you don’t talk to me.”

“I talk to you plenty!”

“You really don’t,” Natasha chimes in, looking at Clint over the top of her beer bottle.

“I don’t?” Clint looks around the room for an answer. And everyone replies promptly by either looking away awkwardly or a stern shake of their heads. “Fuck! I’m sorry. I just thought that you didn’t like me. But… That was—what you said…” Oh shit, the fucker’s about to get serious. His brow is scrunching up. “What you said means a lot to me. Thank you… And I’m sorry. I’m gonna—I’m gonna talk to you more now.”

She tries her best not to laugh as she replies, “Can’t wait.”

“Do Banner next,” Clint says, pointing to Bruce.

“No, no, no, no, no. Don’t drag me into this. This is Barton’s—” Bruce is cut off.

“Too late, Bruce.”

Bruce looks at her and then exhales. “No chance of me getting out of this?”

“None whatsoever,” she tells him solemnly.

“So I have to do this?”

“Unfortunately.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head slightly and finally lets a small smile slip out. “Fine…” He stares her down, “Hit me.”

He’s expecting the worst.

So why not hit him with it?

“You are a monster.”

At that, Bruce physically deflates, he collapses in on himself. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

He’s not gonna get off that easy.

“You went to try and recreate a serum that made Captain America and instead you got turned into a raging, big green guy who has no understanding of ‘tasteful nudity’. Fuck, man. My heart bleeds for your wardrobe alone…” She can hear quiet chuckles from around the room. But then she tilts her head, looking him over. Sensing the shift in her demeanor, Bruce meets her gaze. “Anyone else would have taken it as the hit that it was and gotten… angry.” Bruce smiles at the pun. “Gotten angry at the world, angry at life, angry at everything… And I mean, who the fuck would have blamed you? You had every right to be angry. Because how the fuck is fair to be dealt a hand as shit as that, when they are someone as kind as you?” She thinks her words over, fidgeting with the glass in her hand. “I won’t comment on your struggles with the Hulk, I wasn’t there so it’s not my place. From what little I do know, I can imagine it wasn’t an easy time for you. I can—I can sympathise with that… But you took the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone and moulded it as such that now you use it to help people, to protect them. To be a hero.”

“I’m not—”

She cuts him off again, “I know you don’t see that in yourself, but I do, okay? I look at you and I see a hero. So does everyone else in this room.” She gives Bruce a moment—to look around at his team, who look back at him with the same faith that she’s speaking of. He seems a little too fucking surprised to see it. “And I don’t just mean that as the Hulk. Because you’re not just the green guy.” She levels him with a stern look. “I’m also talking about Banner, the guy with seven fucking PhDs.”

Bruce blushes.

He stares at his hands as he replies, “Well, Y/n… I really do appreciate the fact that you didn’t forget my seven PhDs.”

She can’t help it, she laughs. So do the rest.

“I know you don’t believe me but—”

Now it’s Bruce who cuts her off. “It’s probably the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Y/n. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She takes a large sip from her drink.

“I volunteer to be next,” Thor speaks up, glass in hand.

And who is she to say no to that? “As you wish, your highness.”

“Come on, Little Stark, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She smiles. “This isn’t your fucking planet, dude.” The big man is left confused. It makes her smile widen. “This isn’t your fucking planet, we are not your people, this is not your kingdom. You are neither obligated to fight for us, nor were you asked to… You could have just looked the other way. Ignored your brother’s annoying cry for attention and let this planet fend for itself, but you didn’t. Fuck, more than that, you kept coming—you keep coming back, helping in any way you can to help us fix things, even when it’s not your job to…”

Her eyes turn to his hammer, “That hammer of yours—you say it can only be picked up when you’re worthy, and sure, Odin’s seal of approval on you is great and all but—” her gaze fly up to meet his, “I don’t know him. So—and I mean no offense here—but him saying you’re worthy, means fuckall to me. All I know is that to me, you’re a God because you never turn away from someone asking for help. No matter where you are, no matter who it is—if they ask for a helping hand, they can always, always count on yours. That is what makes you worthy, and what will surely make you a great King.”

Thor sniffles.

He fucking sniffles.

Her eyes widen in surprise, so much so that she forgets to quip.

“A great King, you say? Well, if that ever happens, remind me to put you in charge of all my public speeches,” he says, eyes a little misty.

“Sure, yeah,” she answers, unsure of herself. “Whatever you want, big guy.” She never thought she was going to make the God of Thunder cry.

“You made the God of Thunder cry!” Sam states, a little astonished.

“I am not crying!”

She ignores Thor completely, “And it’s your turn next, Birdman.”

“What? No! I’m not even an Avenger!” He comes to his seat atop the backrest next to Bruce.

Bullshit.

“How the fuck does that matter when you’re the one I look up the most?”

Sam clearly wasn’t expecting her to say that. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” Obviously. She plays with her drink a little, before taking a sip. “You have this infectious optimism about you—that a realist like me—”

“A pessimist like you,” Tony corrects her.

She flips him off, but agrees. “That a pessimist like me should technically hate… But I don’t. I kinda like it, a lot. It’s so fucking contagious that I think might just want to steal it.”

Sam smiles at her then, “I could just teach you, hotshot.”

Sipping her drink, she shakes her head. “If you’re going to teach me anything, teach me about loyalty, cause man! We came knocking on your window, with the entire might of the United States of America’s premiere Intelligence Organisation up our ass,” she points from herself to Steve to Natasha. “And you fucking let us in!” She sits up, folding up one leg under the other. “You didn’t just give us a place to lay low—no! You chose to join the fucking fight! Your first time around as an Avenger and you took down the plan Hydra had been crafting for fifty fucking years!” Sam laughs, partly at her enthusiasm, partly because she can tell he gets what she’s getting at. “That’s some top tier Avenger shit if I’ve ever seen any. Goddamn it, Birdman! Mark my words,” she holds up her glass to him. “You’re gonna take the world by storm… and when you do, I’m gonna go around gloating to anyone who’ll listen that Sam Wilson’s first mission as an Avenger was with me.” She winks at him and takes a swig. “You’ll see.”

Sam chuckles, with his head down and a hint of shyness blooming across his face. “I’ll hand it to ya, hotshot—you’ve got a way with words.” He looks over at the rest of the room, “And y’all had me believe she can’t express herself for shit!”

“That’s cause none of them have ever gotten drunk with her,” Rhodey chimes in.

“But you have, haven’t you, Rhodey?” She asks, on the cusp of slurring. The drink in her hand, the one Sam made, is doing exactly what Clint had hoped it would. “We grew up together, you and I…” Rhodey reacts exactly the way she thought he would, he looks at her with a quiet determination. “Which means you know that I love you, because I’ve told you a million times over. B—but I think I never really told you I respect you. And I do, Rhodes. I respect you more than anyone else in my fucking life. You know that, don’t you?” He nods slowly, with a smile. “I know I fought you tooth and nail when you joined the Air Force but—but you gotta know, it wasn’t because I thought you wouldn’t be brilliant at it. Of course, you would be. I knew that better than anyone. I just…” she licks her lips, afraid of the confession that’s about to come.

“I was being selfish. You weren’t just Tony’s best friend, you’re mine too. And I was fucking terrified of losing my friend, you know?” When she looks at him, he’s already staring back at her with an understanding smile. “It was an asshole move, but now that it’s been a long enough time, I’m gonna pretend that I’m old enough to admit—I have never been more proud to call you my friend, Rhodes. You have always been a hero to me… I’m sorry if I gave the impression otherwise.”

Rhodey doesn’t say anything at first. He just gets up from his seat and walks over to her. And then he kisses the top of her head while pulling her in “Not a damn thing for you to say sorry for, Chef.”

“Thanks, Chef,” she mumbles into the hug he pulls her in.

“Right back atchya, kid.” He kisses her head again. He’s just about to let go, when Tony rushes over to them and jumps in, hugging them both harder.

“This is by far the most emotional team building exercise I have ever seen,” Hill speaks up.

Oh, you sweet summer child. “That you’ve ever been a part of,” Y/n corrects her, fighting her way out of the bear hug the two men had engulfed her in.

“Oh no no no no no.”

“You really thought I’d forget about you, Hill?”

“I am not a part of this,” Hill retorts. “I’m categorically not an Avenger.”

“What the hell is up with you guys and rejecting the Avenger title?” She looks around the room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s cursed or something.” She takes a sip of her drink, “Look, Hill, you don’t know very much about me—”

“Apart from the suspicious fact that you’re a lawyer who can kick some serious ass,” Hill provides.

“Apart from that, yes,” she agrees. “So, I’m gonna tell you something—I know everything there is to know about everyone I meet. See, before Howie took me in, life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for me.”

“But it is now, that I’m part of it?” Tony pipes in, without any preamble as he and Rhodey take their previous seats again.

She ignores him, rolling her eyes. “Which kinda gave way to a laundry list of character flaws, one of which was a crippling and annoying amount of trust issues—it led me to develop a habit of digging into the past of anyone I had more than a one minute conversation with… I haven’t just read Nat’s files—I have made one on every single person in this room—including you. Now, the files might not tell me who you are, but as I’ve already stated, I happen to believe that a person is defined by their actions. And holy shit, Hill—you’ve got absolutely no right calling yourself anything less than an Avenger.”

She shifts to the edge of her seat. She can’t get close to Hill, who’s sitting on the floor, on the other side of the table, so this is the best she’s got right about now. “You’re painfully smart and confoundingly determined. You don’t take shit from anyone—not from Fury, not from the billionaire genius and not from the Super Soldier.” She smiles at her then, “And that makes you a fucking badass. And the rest of it? Like the op in Transnistria?” Maria’s eyes widen at the mention of it. Told ya. “In my eyes, shit like that makes you a fucking hero.”

And there it is again.

Silence.

Some more of it.

Hill, herself, is the one who breaks it this time. “Anyone ever tell you, you know too fucking much for a lawyer?”

Chuckling, she slides back into her seat, finishing up her drink. “Only the people who couldn’t afford me.”

She looks over the people in front of her, and she has to end it off on a good note, doesn’t she? “With all that said and done, I need you crazy kids to know that I meant it with every fiber of my being when I said that I’m grateful to be associated with every single one of you… but I will charge you all my entire hourly rate for every single litigation you get me and yourself trapped in. And I am very expensive.”

Everyone breaks into a laugh.

Well, everyone except Tony.

“Hold on, aren’t you forgetting someone?” Tony asks. When all he gets in response is a cocked brow from her, he points from himself to Steve. “What? Me and the Capsicle don’t get a heart to heart from Miss Summa Cum Laude Y/n Stark? How’s that fair?”

“You really want me to sit here and wax poetic about the two of you?”

“Why not?” Steve asks, with a cheeky grin.

“Really? That’s what you want?”

“As the old man said, why not?” Tony doubles down, kicking back with his feet.

“Cause you’re the two men I lov—care about most in the whole world,” she states. Fuck. Almost fucked that up, colossally. “You want a public proclamation of it now?”

Steve smiles at her, “Maybe we do, doll.”

Meanwhile, Tony takes this moment to stare at her and mouth the word ‘care’ like a fucking insult. The motherfucker is mocking her, giggling and snickering like a third grader and Y/n can’t even do anything about it. Cause Steve’s already looking at her, and if she gives in now, there’d be hell for her to pay.

She’ll get back at her brother some other fucking time.

“Fine,” she says, just to get Tony to stop. “Let’s start with you, shall we, Cap?”

Steve gets comfortable in his seat. “Let’s hear it, doll.”

And fine. If he’s gonna be cocky about it, it’s only fair for her to make him eat his shit-eating grin.

Ignoring Tony’s knowing gaze, she lets herself relax in her chair.

“Steven Grant Rogers, the man out of time,” she begins. “You know, I have been hearin’ tall tales about you since I was a fucking teenager. All these stories of the great Captain America, the soldier, the righteous man… the hero. I heard all about your adventures and your bravery, your crazy, damn near impossible mission, in the face of great, undefeatable odds… And you know what I thought?” Steve quirks his brow. “I thought, what a steaming hot load of bullshit!” Everyone laughs, but Tony’s sounds out the loudest, obviously. “They’d talk about you like you were this great, ineffable being—not even human. To them, you were larger than life. And I’d think what motherfucking horseshit!” She plays with the empty glass in her hand.

“I’m not saying they were lying but—” She shrugs. “Howie was always an unreliable narrator, and the rest of them were probably just caught up in the Captain America of it all…” But then… “But then I met you and suddenly,” she tongues her cheek, “it all made sense…” Steve’s smile falls away and gives way to a sort of startling realization. “It made sense that Howard Stark—a man who had very little faith in humanity—didn’t just talk about you like a friend, or like a hero, but like someone he aspired to be. It made sense then, that Peggy Carter…” His eyes shine and ears perk up at the mention of her name, “Fell in love with you.” She can feel the weight of Tony's gaze on her, telling her silently to not give away too much, to not reveal more than she had, to not dwell on this one particular topic. She gives in to her brother’s silent plea. “Even before the serum, you always fought for a choice, and made the right one when you got it, no matter how hard it was.” She exhales heavily.

“You fight for what is right, damn the consequences. You fight true and you fight hard.” She smiles a little then, “Now, I won’t go as far as to say that you’re some ineffable being, because you’re not. You’re a man, and you make mistakes. But—but from what I understand, the true character of a man is how he acts when faced with those mistakes. How he works to rectify them.” She’s a little shy about it when she says, “And I think I can say this now—I know you. The Steve Rogers behind the Captain America of it all… So, please understand that I mean it when I say—You’re a good man in a storm.”

She pauses so the words can hit as hard as she wants them to. And they do. Steve, her Steve does the thing he does when he feels overwhelmed, he sits up straighter and broadens his shoulder—like he’s being awarded a medal. “And while, it a fucking honor getting to share a battlefield with you, I will maintain to my dying day,” her smile slips out, “that getting to call you mine is a far bigger accomplishment.”

For a second, she thinks Steve’s malfunctioned.

“I think you broke him,” Natasha comments, and fuck she has to agree.

“Is he breathing?” Clint asks, sounding genuinely worried.

“I—” Tony turns to look at Steve whose eyes are set on her. “I don’t think so.” He begins clicking his finger in front of Steve’s face. “Hey? Hey, Steve? Anyone in there?” Steve doesn’t even fucking blink.

“Stop that!” Hill reprimands him by throwing a stray popcorn kernel at Tony. Who does stop but looks at her, offended.

“Rogers? Are you with us?” Thor questions from his seat.

“I think we should check his pulse,” Bruce states, leaning forward with creased brows.

“I don’t know, doesn’t it feel like if you touch him, he’ll—spontaneously combust into flames?” Rhodey wonders aloud.

“I’m with Rhodey on this one, give him a second. He’s just rebooting,” Sam suggests.

“Or maybe the years just caught up to him,” Tony retorts. “I think the old man’s a goner.” He turns to Y/n and says, “I think you killed your dear boyfriend, Stark—”

Before Tony can finish, Steve’s on his knees, in front of her in the blink of an eye.

“Steve—”

She’s cut off mid-sentence, swallowed by the delightfully crushing weight of a 6-foot-something Super Soldier as Steve Rogers closes the space between them in a kiss that feels like reverence made tangible.

He’s on his knees before her—not in surrender, but in devotion. His hands, strong, battle-worn, are impossibly gentle as they frame her face, thumbs brushing reverently along her cheekbones like he’s committing her to memory. Like she’s something holy.

The kiss itself is deliberate, deep, but never demanding. His lips press against hers with an almost aching care, a silent whisper of gratitude, of thanks that he cannot express with words, something dangerously close to worship. It’s not about hunger. It’s about feeling. About letting her know that he heard her, and he was rendered speechless with the weight of her words.

Her hands sink into his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. Shudders.

A man who has stood unshaken in the face of war, of gods, of the end of the world—and yet here he is, kneeling, unraveling, offering himself up at the altar of her.

The world around them still moves—distant voices, the soft creak of leather beneath her, their friends wolf whistles and crass comments at the overt display—but it doesn’t touch them. Steve kisses her like she’s the only thing that has ever truly mattered. Like she’s the one thing he ever got without having to fight with his entire might for.

When he finally pulls back, just barely, his forehead resting against hers, his breath is warm, uneven, filled with something raw. His fingers trail down her arms, tracing paths that feel like promises.

“Had to do that,” he murmurs, voice rough, a prayer in itself. “Hope you don’t mind.”

She exhales, a slow, wrecked thing, and tightens her grip in his hair. Like she’d ever let him go. “Don’t mind at all, handsome.” She kisses him once again. Quick and short.

“Thank you,” he says then, kissing her cheek. “You don’t know how much—thank you.”

And that makes her roll her eyes, because what the fuck does he have to thank her for?

“Go back to your seat, handsome. Before this becomes something less appropriate for public consumption.” She pushes him off. “Come on. Get away from me!”

Laughing, Steve obliges.

“Well, that got real steamy, real quick,” Tony comments, a little too cheeky for her liking.

Their eyes meet and she hums softly. Looking at the last vestiges of liquor in the glass in her hand, she says slowly, “I guess this brings me to you—” she looks up at him, “Anthony Edward Stark… the boy who saved me.”

No one else in the room understands the connotation of the words, the weight behind them, except the two of them. It makes the cunning smile from Tony’s face fall away. He didn’t see this shift in her tone coming. He didn’t think she’d reveal herself like this, not even this tiny bit. He sobers immediately.

And fuck, we can’t have that.

She turns to the crowd then, “When Tony was younger…” She shakes her hand in casual estimation, “12, I think?” She nods to herself, satisfied with her guess. “Howie shipped him off to boarding school after he broke some rule or another. Doesn’t matter.” She dismisses out of hand, because it truly doesn’t. “Now, what you gotta know about Tony, is that he was a late bloomer.” Snickers sound out from around the room.

“Thanks, Stark,” Tony admonishes her with no real heat.

She smiles, and corrects herself, “Not like that, I meant he was small for his age.” She pulls up her hand to her head to indicate his height. “He also cried a lot.” She shakes her head with fondness of the little Tony Stark in her memory. “I mean, I could make him cry by just calling him an asshole—he cried a lot.” She chuckles, Tony does too. “And… there is no nice way to say this… um, all that made him pretty fucking easy to pick on.”

Her smile fades as she continues, “So, when he would call me every night from the boarding school to tell me about his day… I knew he’d been crying.” She grits her teeth. “He wouldn’t say anything, of course. He would—he’d quip and crack jokes, and bitch about the classes and the teachers. He would act like everything was dandy—like everything was fine for a genius, scared little boy, at a school full of dickhead rich kids, who were taught by their parents to make everyone who was different feel lesser than…” She bites the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from breaking. “I’d ask him, again and again, ‘What’s wrong, Tones? Tell me what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it, together.’” She shakes her head, “He wouldn’t fess up. He’d say, ‘Everything’s fine, Y/n. Quit bein’ a worry wart.’ He’d act like everything was okay… But I could tell. ‘Course I could…”

She runs a hand through her hair, and exhales slowly, mustering up a smile. “So, imagine my surprise when I get a call one day and this fucker is just vibrating with pure excitement.” Her smile grows, as she puts a hand to her ear, imitating a phone. “‘What is it, Tones? What happened?’” She laughs a little. “‘I made a friend’ he said. ‘I made a friend, his name is Wallace! He just got transferred here from Hudson. You wanna talk to him?’ Of course I did!” Everyone else in the room matches her smile with their own brilliant ones. “So I’m talking to Wallace and fuck, a great kid! Apparently he was like a mini Thor?” She points at the God of thunder who looks like he’s a minute away from swooning. “Pretty big for his age?” She nods to herself. “Not the smartest kid you’ll ever meet, but he was kind. You know?” Everyone nods in unison, making her smile wider.

“So, I’m excited, Tony is clearly very excited, and now fucking Wallace is excited. We’re fucking brimming with it.” She slows down then, brings her hand to her lips and fidgets with them. “But then… the next night, I’m waiting by the phone for three hours, I don’t get a call.” Suddenly the tone in the room shifts. “It’s ass o’clock at night, I barge into Howie’s study and I pester the shit outta him for like two hours straight till he calls the School to check in on Tony. When he finally does, they tell us it’s all peachy. They tell us Tony’s asleep, safe and sound in his bed.” She sits up, “Of course, I don’t buy that, but he is safe. So, who knows? Maybe he had a rough day. Maybe he needed a night—some space to gather himself and he’ll tell me all about it tomorrow.” She hits the back of her hand into her palm. “But tomorrow night comes, and again—I don’t get a call.” She leans forward, just to bask in the curiosity that everyone’s wearing on their faces right now.

“Now that’s fucking suspicious.” She sits up straight then, “But I gotta play my cards right. I can’t wake up Howard again and light a fire under his ass. If anything had happened to Tony the school would have been obligated to call—Can’t afford to upset the guy who’s funding their new science wing. So, I gotta play it smart, I can’t be the boy who cried wolf.” She shrugs, “I gotta wait it out. Wait for him to call me tomorrow.” She pauses for a second, letting the suspense build. “Cut to—next night. No call.” She throws up her hands, and eases back into her seat.

“Means, it’s DEFCON 1. I am now screaming at the top of my lungs, telling Howard to call the School and check in on Tony. He’s yelling right back at me—telling me I’m overreacting. And fuck that. ‘I know Tony! I know my brother, Howard! And I am telling you, something is really fucking wrong! Just call the school, goddamn it!’” Her hands are flying everywhere as she enacts the entire scene out. “In the middle of all this, Maria walks in—and then shit hits the fucking fan. Now it’s Howie against me and Maria,” she enunciates with her hand. “The entire Stark Household is a fucking battlefield. Bullets are flying everywhere—curses the likes of which you have never heard. I have the telephone in my hand,” she begins acting out her words once again, “and I’m about to hurl that shit at Howard’s head so fucking hard, if he doesn’t make the goddamn call—” her voice quiets suddenly, “that we almost miss it when it rings.” Everyone’s suddenly on alert.

Her voice remains soft as she continues, with only a hint of a smile, “Now, we’ve made such a big, fat fuss about the whole thing, that even Howie’s on edge. He picks up the phone before it even has a chance to ring a second time.” She brings her hand to her face, taking a second before she breaks the suspense. “It’s the school,” she tells them. “Tony Stark has been expelled from their fine establishment for using household appliances to electrocute the shit out of the Mayor’s son.” She smiles proud and wide.

She shrugs, “Now, he’s not a violent kid, so why would he go and do that?” She gives them all a pause to guess, but it’s a rhetorical question and everyone treats it as such. “‘Cause of the bullying? Come on. He’d been living with that shit for a year—he didn’t break. So why now?” She hopes her face reflects the pride she feels inside when she says, “It’s ‘cause the douchebag had gone after Wallace.”

When she looks around at the room, everyone’s eyes have gotten a new kind of reverence as they look at her brother.

So she looks at him too. “When you came back from your God awful vacation in the desert and told me you wanted to be a hero, you might have thought of it as a career pivot—but to me… It was a prophecy coming true.” She can tell he’s trying really fucking hard not to cry. “Natasha Romanoff is my favorite Avenger, but you are my favorite fucking superhero, Tony Stark. Always have been, always will be.”

Just as Y/n makes her grand proclamation, Tony abruptly gets to his feet and turns away from the group. His hands rise to his face, fingers pressing against his eyes. She knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Tony?” Natasha calls out, her voice deceptively sweet. “Are you—Tony.”

“Is he crying?” Clint asks, slowly.

“He’s crying,” Rhodey confirms, deadpan.

“Absolutely not!” Tony snaps, but the slight waver in his voice betrays him.

Y/n grins and pushes up from her chair. “Told you it was easy to make him cry,” she announces, strolling over to him.

Tony turns away further, as if sheer willpower will keep his dignity intact. It won’t. Y/n doesn’t care. She wraps her arms around him from the side, her grip firm. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, Stark?” she teases, her voice warm. To make sure he knows she means no harm, she tightens her hold and presses a loud, obnoxious kiss to the side of his head.

“Shut up! It’s your fault!” Tony grumbles, but the sniffling ruins any heat behind it.

She chuckles, rubbing his arms in slow, comforting circles. “You’re the one who wanted me to wax poetic about you.”

“Not this poetic,” he gripes.

“Well, tough luck, genius,” she scolds, lighthearted. “You’re stuck with this—with me, I’m afraid. I’m right behind you, always.”

Tony turns so fast she barely has time to register it before she’s got an armful of Iron Man, holding onto her like she’s his last tether.

“Woah, woah—” she stumbles, unprepared for the sudden weight, but then there’s a steadying hand at the small of her back.

Steve.

With his support, she regains her footing and tightens her grip around Tony, holding onto her brother just as fiercely as he’s holding onto her.

“You’re my favorite too,” Tony whispers in her ear, just for her to hear and no one else. “I need you to know that. You’re my fucking favorite superhero too.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just kisses his head again and again and again. “Now, get off me you, damn, koala bear!” She pushes him off, not unkindly. “Okay,” she turns to the crowd, "I've hit my yearly quota for feelings in one night. If we don't change the topic soon, I might just self-destruct out of sheer principle.” Clasping the hand Steve has on the small of her back with her own, she looks over the room.

Steve takes the chance and pulls her onto his lap. She yelps in surprise, but he just wraps his hands around her, kissing her neck.

She’s just about to smooch the living shit out of her boyfriend when Clint, sensing the perfect moment to ruin everything, loudly announces, “Well, that was horrifying. I need something aggressively stupid to cleanse my brain.”

“Something not feelings-related,” Tony adds, pointing a warning finger at Y/n like she hasn’t already hit her emotional quota for the year.

Natasha smirks. “Like what? Another round of Guess What’s Gonna Kill Tony First?”

“First of all—rude,” Tony says. “Second, we all know it’s either gonna be my own brilliance or Steve’s disappointment.”

“I never said I was disappointed in you,” Steve says.

“You didn’t have to.”

Rhodey claps Tony on the shoulder. “I’m still putting money on ‘blows himself up doing something unnecessarily dramatic.’”

“Please,” Sam waves him off. “We’ve all got money on that.”

Bruce sighs. “At this point, it’s basic statistics.”

Tony hands shoot up to his chest, and onto his heart, he feigns injury and dramatically gasps like he’s been shot. “Et tu, Bruce?” To that Bruce just laughs in response, shaking his head.

“The only way Tony gets to die is peacefully in his sleep, at the ripe old age of 99!” Y/n announces to the room, ending all scope for argument. It’s a sore subject for her and no one but Tony knows the extent of that. “We’re not playing that morbid fucking game ever again!”

Natasha throws her hands up in surrender. “My bad.” Everyone else too has the decency to look admonished, except Tony who looks at her with fairly well hidden mild concern.

“So, what’s our options here?” Hill chimes in, dissipating the slight tension. “Bar fight? Competitive arson?”

“Something legal,” Bruce interjects quickly, because he knows this group too well.

Sam gestures at Y/n. “Can we get a ruling on what constitutes ‘legal’ in this room?”

She smirks, tilting her glass toward him. “Technically, nothing we do holds up in court.”

“Cleared by the legal department!” Tony declares.

Steve mutters, “I should be more concerned about that than I am,” dropping another kiss on her shoulder.

She throws her head back, chuckling, and kisses his temple in return.

Clint leans forward, rubbing his hands together. “You wanna talk about legal precedent? Let’s talk about divine precedent.” He jerks his chin toward the center of the room, where Mjolnir sits, unassuming and waiting.

Y/n raises an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously about to bring Thor’s hammer into this.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Clint gestures at Thor, eyes narrowing. “Let’s discuss the so-called worthiness clause. By whose standards? Who enforces it? And most importantly—” He leans in. “Who’s to say you’re not just screwing with us?”

Thor pulls out the flask of that good fucking Asgardiaun stuff from his pocket and pours some into his drink. “Ah, Barton, your skepticism wounds me,” but the laugh that follows, renders the sentiment in the words irrelevant.

Clint gestures dramatically at the hammer, spinning the drumstick in his hand, looking around the room like he’s about to expose the world’s greatest con. “But, it’s a trick!”

“Oh no. It’s much more than that,” Thor counters easily, while passing the flask to Steve who takes a swig.

Oh, this is going to be so fucking good.

“Ah, ‘whosoever be he worthy, shall haveth the power!’ Whatever, man! It’s a trick.”

Read the next part here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

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