#the other two percent is mostly thor just being thor

[woulddieforloki]

Ok but in your fic, which parts of Loki attacking people are you referring to? Because Loki canonically doesn’t just attack people for no reason. In Age of Ultron it was Thor who attacked Tony, and it was you who made Loki do it instead, making Loki the one at fault. I don’t mean to say your fic is bad because I like it but it makes sense that fans would defend Loki in that case.

I'm gonna put it under a cut because I don't think my friend's made it that far and I don't want to spoil it if/when he sees this lol

he "attacked" (assaulted?) Jane after The Dark World when Thor wouldn't tell him what they did with the Aether and then he choked Tony because he was mad in AoU. and like Loki did have a reason but he refuses to communicate with anyone so the Avengers don't know that he had a reason. like, it's hard to guess what reason Loki could possibly have for assaulting Thor's girlfriend two minutes after meeting her, y'know? the Avengers aren't the bad guys for thinking Loki shouldn't assault people 😭

[elisaphoenix13]

Multi-Colored Mischief

It was a rare, peaceful morning. Something that usually only happened when pigs flew, so Stephen took advantage of it. He brewed himself a cup of tea, grabbed a couple of his grimoires, and took a meditative position in Tony's office. Or rather, Stephen's hideaway for all magical needs since his husband hardly used the room. If he did, it was to write an angry email to an idiot teacher and he absolutely needed to hear the clacking of his keyboard so he knew his anger was coming across.

The kids found it hilarious. Tony always has an intense look on his face as he slammed away at the poor keyboard…and ranted. The man ranted as he typed so it wasn't hard to piece together what the engineer was putting into his email. After an incident where Tony called one of Diana's teachers a few foul names, Stephen had to take it upon himself to look over future emails and edit them. Which was a surprise because the mother in him wanted to be just as illogical as his husband and let the man call whatever teacher any name he could think of, but…

Well someone had to keep a little peace and try to find a compromise for whatever the issue was. Even if the teacher really was a simpering moron ninety percent of the time.

Stephen pushed the thought from his mind though. Meditating was meant to help him empty his mind and relax from the daily chaos he lived through. If he eyeballed a certain book before closing his eyes, no one knew but him.

It was nice. He could feel the long neglected magical energies swirling around him, and even feel the living energy of everyone in the tower. He mostly ignored those below the Avenger floors, and a few moments of focus helped him pick out who was who. People like Quill, Thor, and Carol were easy to identify because of their powers. Others were a bit harder but it only took a bit longer since their energies were mostly in time with their personalities. His children were always easy though. Maybe even more so than the literal god. He was used to them. It was his job to pay attention to them.

He could feel Thomas’s energy practically vibrating at times, usually when he was restless and needed to run. Diana’s was as bubbly as her and William’s…it was strong but calm. Much like Stephen's could be. But something made him cock his head curiously. Their energies were rather close together which only meant they were doing something together. In a small room from what he could–

Then what sounded like bowling pins being knocked over made Stephen open his eyes. With a sigh, he lowered his legs from his floating position and prepared for…well, chaos. Normally he would let things be until someone's eye got poked, but he heard Lucy giggle. Half the time that meant she was doing something she wasn't supposed to and since she wasn't even two yet, he was obligated to check on her.

So he left his tea and books behind, opened the door and walked down the hallway until he ended up in front of Harley's door. Where most of the noise was coming from. The falling bowling pin sounds were more apparent but the rumbling that was supposed to precede it never happened so he had to wonder what they were getting into. At least Diana hasn't found a way to magically extend Harley's room to make him his own personal bowling alley, but that was one thing off a massive list Stephen had in his head.

His kids were capable of anything.

“Harley? What's going on in there?” Stephen calls out as he reaches for the doorknob.

“Crap! Wait! Mom, don't open the–” Harley starts.

But Stephen was already in the process of opening the door and he very quickly discovered what his children had decided to get up to this time. In the form of multicolored balls that broke free from the room and crashed over the top of his head. He barely saw and managed to grab Lucy as she seemed to ride the wave of balls with another hysterical giggle and practically had to swim out of the torrent. He watched as the flood of balls traveled down the hallway and over the railing of the stairs into the living room below, and when they finally trickled down to the occasional bounce, Stephen finally looked into Harley's bedroom to find all of the kids huddled nearby and looking a mix between pleased and morose.

Valerie and William had the mind to at least look more apologetic than their siblings.

“ ‘gain!” Lucy screeches happily.

“I don't think so,” Stephen says immediately and huffs as he looks at the two oldest. “How did you even manage to get all of these into your room without your father and I know–”

Peter, Harley, and Thomas immediately pointed at Diana and Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why the bedroom? Why didn't you just empty the pool downstairs and use that?”

Peter blinks. “Uhhhh…because we didn't think of it?”

Stephen raises an eyebrow at Harley. “Aren't you twenty?”

“Being an adult sucks and is a social construct!” Harley snorts. “Besides, you're never too old to play in a ball pit.”

“Fair enough,” Stephen says as he looks around at the balls. “If you move this downstairs after emptying the pool, you can continue with this. Just make sure one of you keeps an eye on Lucy.”

The kids cheer and Thomas takes Lucy from him before dashing away with her, and the rest follow with excited chatter. Stephen was sure Harley and Peter would properly drain the pool so he felt nice enough to use his magic to gather up all of the balls and send them downstairs to the gym. Once the pool was empty, Diana simply had to use her magic to put the balls in it.

Who was he to keep them from having fun? Harley and Peter might be adults but with all they had been through, sometimes it was good to embrace their inner child. Especially since they had many younger siblings. He was also glad to see the twins and America adjusting enough to the point that they felt comfortable enough to include themselves in shenanigans. Stephen and Tony just learned to pick and choose their battles. This one was relatively harmless…as long as Lucy didn't surf the balls out of the room again.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose again at the thought before returning to Tony's office to get back to his meditation. Levi was in the room hovering near the bookshelf, and seemed to be flipping through the pages of a book with its lapels. The sorcerer hardly blinked. When he first got the relic he might have found it strange, but he learned that the relic liked to do things that seemed normal. It has tea parties for Vishanti’s sake.

“What are you pretending to read?” Stephen asks as he folds his legs and starts to levitate again. He was a little surprised when his cloak flew over with the book with as much excitement as some fabric can have and nearly shoved the lore in his face. Fortunately he didn't fall to the ground and was easily able to recover before taking the offending object.

It was the book.

“Why are you looking at this?” Stephen watches as Levi eagerly flips through the pages until it stops at– “No. Why would you…no. We have enough.” The sorcerer reprimands, closing the book with his magic and sending it back to the shelf.

“Didn't you tell me it acts out on what you want?” Tony says as he strides in.

“Sometimes,” Stephen admits as his husband walks over to the printer. “For once, I'm not hyper focused on another baby.”

“But it's on your mind,” Tony points out as he presses some buttons. “We should consider it. The kids already said they're fine with it, and you wanted to even things out.”

“America evened things out,” Stephen says as he drinks his tea. “Besides, I think it would be unfair at this point to add another one to this chaotic bunch. I just caught them using Harley's room as a ball pit. Lucy also managed to use the balls as a roller coaster when I was unfortunate enough to open the door.

Tony laughs from behind Stephen, and without looking, the sorcerer sends a lighter time at his head. He heard it fall to the floor with a thunk which only meant his husband dodged the projectile.

“Easy, Duchess. Maybe another one won't even out the numbers, but it might even out the personalities. Maybe it will be another Valerie.”

Stephen sighs and drops his hands. “Or it could be another Lucy. That child is a liability.”

“She's just being a kid. Everyone's different,” Tony shrugs as he walks around to Stephen's line of sight with a folder of whatever he printed out. “I feel like we got one more in us. To make, anyway. We'll keep adopting poor super orphans.”

“Are you sure you're not the one with baby fever?” Stephen raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Maybe I'm just hoping this last one will like you and you'll get another baby to raise properly. So I got Dia and Lulu. You'll have Val and the new one.”

Tony's argument wasn't a great one but Stephen understood what he was trying to say. Instead of reasons they shouldn't, Tony was giving reasons they should. Sort of? Stephen was starting to think Tony just wanted one more to even the odds for him. It was thoughtful of Tony to consider Stephen's feelings like that. When he wanted another one, they got Lucy and she immediately attached herself to Tony.

All Stephen knew was that he was still unsure and that was enough reason not to do anything yet.

“I'll think about it,” he tells Tony. “I…need a good reason to bring another one into our family.”

“Okay, honey,” Tony gives him a quick peck. “You go back to your rare Me Time while the hellions play in the ball pit downstairs.”

“Wait, you knew?”

“Friday told me they were down in the gym making a ball pit out of the pool. I didn't know how you found out,” Tony smirks and Stephen glares at him.

“Next time I'll leave their nonsense for you to find and be caught in the crossfire of.”

“I did. Remember the stink bomb?” Tony says and they both shudder.

“It took weeks to get the smell out,” Stephen gags, easily able to recall how bad the smell was.

“Underoos describing the smell as ‘only getting hotter’ because of the candles still makes me laugh though.” Tony smiles. “Never a dull day with these kids. Anyway, gotta get this down to the front desk for Pepper to pick up.”

“Why can't she come up and get it here?” Stephen asks.

“She's still traumatized by the watermelon incident.”

Stephen snorts. “After everything she's witnessed, the watermelon is what bothers her?”

“To be fair, she did walk in the moment it exploded.”

“Point taken.”

[the-firebird69]

We hit something else. I'm putting out the code, and they're going at it, and they're starting to see it, and it's good. we do. We do need code for this stuff down in the cavern. If anyone can think of where it is. also, our son needs to get some rest. He's tired right now. Very tired.. there's more going on all night, but it's more of the same.

There are some things happening that we can update. John Remallard is very. sick. He has stage 4 cancer level 5. and to make it a stage 5 cancer it has to be fully mesticized in the bone and that hasn't happened and they're hoping he goes for treatment. There's other things.

--Our son was exposed today, and we're doing it on purpose. And he did a decent job. Found out that he was real thirsty And sometimes happens. and the water made him feel almost instantly better. And that's also a sign that his giant. Last The last time we spoke, our son was at. about 77 percent of the exterior of the body. And it was regarding the destruction of the large amounts of medicine stuck in Lipoma in a little bit in other areas. Mostly it's in my poma and fatty tissues. Throughout the day he was. flowing through the air and he was riding around and he was in the sun. He saw a shade so he could stay there. There was a breeze and he saw a puffy clouds and a whole bunch of them and couldn't see any haze or any vertical steam columns So he just sat there most of the time. It was about a 1.8 rad. and it went up to 2.0 for 20 minutes, three times. It's not extremely high, but it's not exactly low. and we recalculated and he will. be at about 67% tomorrow morning. That is much better.

-- We do have other news. John Remelard. Was asked to leave yesterday? for a per a formal Mac. Pseudo Empire request. And it was strong because it was old way of doing it. Then it's not done too much for this very respected and John Remaard both Enmarked it later on. with ferocity. and he was again requested to leave in a second notice. and they gave him stipulations of where to be and when and how long to be outside and that kind of thing. As they give a deadline, they don't wanna see him messing around. or they'll haul him in.

-- And they are cruising. for the third notice. I guess you need to allow them a full day. and that would be tomorrow and Friday might be the 5th. If they are still here when you think they will be And it's really obnoxious what they're doing. And we mean the more lock Max.

-- Another item going on, it's pretty big And, yeah, the whole crew is asked. They do not want to see this man around our son ever again. And they're sending out orders to shoot anyone supporting him doing it, and then going after Monday. centers to protect his stuff and they're going out to Social Security people who are not obeying the law. And we're doing it in a big way. And John Remaard has stupid things to say to our son and they're telling him not to say anything And the our panelizing him. right where it works out.

-- They are also attempting to reload. the money to Florida saying it was their code. The Mac. Morlock are not allowing it.

Morlock are not allowing it.

-- Along with the above there are. several actions going on that are backing up their two requests or written orders or unread orders actually and they are performing those here and all over the world. and at Wald in areas. If they are disruptive.we fel they invad all walled aras to foce them out and taekethem ove and now too

are threaeting allover to do this

Thor Freya

Olympus

we do it yeh and have to

mc daddy now too michale need it now jtin and haeve to ken

dont have a choice to stop now are committed to being nazis yes wont work for them need out of here yes this idiot too a moron big joe

true it is dumb

Zues Hera

we hate youall for it

trump all the pwudo empire

this blows

bja

[dirtyhelen]

i’ve got the girl on my mind (all the time)

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Featuring: Smut; Humour; Light D/S; Vaginal Fingering; Oral Sex

Words: 4299

Summary: Carol’s wearing a suit. Black, tailored to perfection, but not feminine. The top two buttons of her stark white shirt are undone and her tie is loose around her neck. Her eyes scan the room absently until her gaze lands on you and she’s smiling even wider, lifting her glass and giving you a wink. 

“Oh my God, Bucky, she’s coming over here. Go away.” 

“What—why?” 

“Because I’m either about to embarrass myself or get seduced and I don’t want you here for either.” 

(Spoiler alert: it’s the second one.)

A/N: Woman Cozily Cupping Mug Secretly Thinking About Getting Absolutely Railed by Carol Danvers. This is just a silly little smutfic that I had way too much fun writing. Hope you enjoy! Title from Girls by Beatrice Eli.

“Hey.”

You look up from your computer screen to find Carol Danvers standing in your office doorway, still in her suit from the mission you’re currently writing your report on. She’s looking at you with the confident little half-smile you’ve become very familiar with over the past few weeks. It’s a look that never fails to bring a heat to your cheeks. And other places.

“Uh, hi,” you manage. You can see Bucky smirking at you from his spot lounging on your office sofa, his broken arm resting in a sling against his chest.

“Thanks for your help back there,” Carol says. “You too, Barnes,” she adds, with a nod in his direction. Bucky’s “help” in this case was mostly leaning over your shoulder offering unsolicited opinions on your work and avoiding the many elbow jabs you attempted to land to his ribcage.

It’s not easy being the Avengers’ favourite analyst.

“No problem. Anytime,” you reply.

Carol nods, says a quick, “See ya,” and then she’s gone, striding off down the corridor.

“Bye,” you sigh wistfully.

Bucky chuckles and your eyes snap to him. “You alright there, doll?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice. You glare at him and he only grins wider. “You just seem a little flustered is all. Heart’s beating a little fast.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bucky—you blush like a schoolgirl every time Thor looks at you.”

He squawks but can’t deny it. “Whatever,” he mutters, standing up and heading for the door. “Enjoy filling out your mission report and pining. I’ve got my own cocky blond captain to welcome home.” He winks, graciously letting the pen you throw hit him in the chest before he leaves.

You turn back to your computer and try to focus on your work, but your thoughts keep straying to Carol.

Bucky’s wrong; you do not pine. You only think about her when she’s around. And even then, only once or twice a day. Just casually wondering what she’s doing and if she might stop by your office.

Four or five times, max. Thinking about what she’s wearing, or if she’s done something different with her hair.

Okay, ten times total, on a bad day. Imagining how that easy confidence might translate to the bedroom. If her powers mean her fingers never cramp up, or if her jaw never gets sore.

Bucky’s right; you do pine.

You can’t help it! There’s just something about Carol that has you reverting to the heady infatuations of your teen years every time she’s around. She’s just so fucking cool. To the nerdy teenager you once were, she’s the coolest girl in school whose attention and approval you’re desperate for. To the nerdy adult you currently are, she’s the coolest girl in the universe whose attention and approval you’re desperate for and whose pussy you’d absolutely kill to eat like a five-course meal.

Luckily for your sanity (and your dominant hand), Carol’s not actually around that often. You only met her after the Snap was reversed, having been one of the Capital-D-Dusted, but she seems to spend most of her time checking in on the gazillion other planets in the universe.

At least, she used to. Apparently in the last few months she’s decided to reconnect with her birthplace, because suddenly she’s spending more time on-planet than off. This means the chances of her stopping by your office or running into you on the new-new compound have gone way up. Once every few months has become once a week or more.

Today’s little exchange is the second time she’s found you this week. She stops by, stands in your doorway in ripped jeans or a leather jacket, smirking like a fucking female James Dean, while she casually compliments your outfit or your work or the music playing from your computer. Which would be great—if you had any idea what it means.

You know what you want it to mean, but you and Carol have been doing this little dance for weeks now and she hasn’t so much as asked you if you like coffee, let alone invited you to drink some with her sometime.

Sure, you could ask her out, but you’re not about to risk getting rejected by Captain fucking Marvel and then having to guide her through some villain’s lair over comms the next day.

Shaking your head to try and physically dislodge all thoughts of Carol from your brain, you settle back into your mission report, determined to prove Bucky wrong for at least another hour or two so you can finish up and get home to your empty, lonely apartment.

+++

A couple of weeks and a handful of run-ins with Carol later, you’re standing in a ballroom on the compound in your nicest dress, taking a night off from thinking about Carol. Or trying to, anyway.

The Stark Foundation is hosting a charity gala, raising money for relief efforts for those impacted by the reversal of the Snap. It’s not really your thing, but the Avengers are required to attend and you never pass up an opportunity to watch Steve try to withhold his deep annoyance at having to interact with the richest members of American society.

“Look at his hand, Buck,” you point out. “We’ve reached the clenched fists portion of the evening.”

Bucky nods, taking a sip of his champagne. “Next up—the jaw muscle.”

“Poor guy,” you sigh. “He looks great, though.”

“That he does,” Bucky agrees, eyes scanning the room. “Speaking of looking great—” He lets out a low whistle, nodding his head toward the bar. You follow his gaze and your jaw drops.

“Oh my God.”

“Yep.”

“Look at her.”

It’s Carol, because of course it’s Carol. You weren’t expecting her to be here tonight—she’s not an Avenger in any official capacity and she doesn’t seem the type to enjoy a fancy party—but there she is, standing at the bar talking to Nat and surrounded by a handful of the One Percent.

And she’s wearing a suit. Black, tailored to perfection, but not feminine. The top two buttons of her stark white shirt are undone and her tie hangs loose around her neck.

You watch her laugh at something Natasha says, as she surveys the room absently, completely ignoring all the people clamouring for her attention. Then her gaze lands on you and she’s smiling even wider, lifting her glass and winking at you from the bar.

You manage a little wave back to her as your heart races and Bucky starts to laugh next to you. Carol leans down to say something in Nat’s ear that has her smirking and then she’s walking toward you and your heart stops entirely.

“Oh my God, Bucky, she’s coming over here. Go away,” you hiss.

“What—why?”

“Because I’m either about to embarrass myself or get seduced and I don’t want you to here for either. Go rescue your boyfriend.”

Bucky scoffs but does as you ask, snatching another glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and heading toward Steve.

You have just enough time to swig back the last of your own glass and set it on a table before Carol’s standing in front of you, looking even better up close.

“Hey.” She greets you with a smile.

“Hi.”

“Love the dress,” she says, eyes sweeping down your body. She pinches a fold of your skirt between her finger and thumb, tugs at it lightly. “This colour looks great on you.”

“Oh, um, thank you. You look great too. Very James Bond,” you note and Carol grins. “How are you enjoying your first Avengers party?”

She rolls her eyes. “If one more man tries to tell me about his very cool job managing hedge funds I’m gonna blow a hole in the ceiling and fly out of here.”

“That is, unfortunately, one of the hallmarks of these things. The finance guys, not the ceiling holes,” you clarify. “Though actually, that’s not unheard of either.”

She laughs, about to say something else when her eyes drift over your shoulder. “The vultures are circling again,” she whispers. You turn your head to see a handful of men in expensive suits lingering a few feet away, obviously waiting for an opportunity to introduce themselves to Carol. “You wanna get out of here?” she asks. “Maybe go somewhere a little quieter?”

For a second your brain is frozen solid. You’ve never actually heard that phrase outside of movies and TV, and in movies and TV it usually only means one thing. But this is Carol Danvers and real life and you have no idea if she wants to fuck you or if she really does want to continue your conversation somewhere she’s not at risk of being interrupted by Elon Musk or a random politician.

“My office is just upstairs?” you offer once your brain thaws. There’s a part of you that wants to say, “Or how about we go to your room?” But that’s about ten times more suggestive than you’re comfortable being. Plus, the residences are on the other side of the compound so it’s also not that practical.

“Sounds great,” Carol says with a grin, and then she’s leading you out of the ballroom, a strong hand pressed to the small of your back.

+++

Carol leans against the wall while you fumble with your key card, hands in her pockets and looking so fucking good you want to fall to your knees and beg her to fuck your face right there in the hallway.

Neither of you said much during the short walk to your office but there was an almost palpable tension that has you keyed up and leaking into your panties even though Carol hasn’t so much as touched you beyond a guiding hand on your back.

In the next sixty seconds, as your pass your key card over the pad on the wall and reach down to open the door, it becomes very clear Carol meant “somewhere quieter” exactly the way they do in the movies.

As soon as the door is open she’s pushing you through, kicking it shut with her heel as she pushes you against the wall, hands pressing firm on your shoulders. You gasp when your back hits the wall.

She leans in and your eyes slip shut, waiting for her lips on yours, desperate to finally know how she tastes. But the kiss doesn’t come. She stops with her lips just inches from yours—you can feel the warmth of her breath against your face—and waits. You open your eyes and find her smirking, watching you burn for her and you nearly whimper, another rush of wetness flooding your underwear.

“Please,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself. You’ve wanted this for so long you think you might cry if she doesn’t at least kiss you.

“Please what?” she asks, voice calm and low like she isn’t standing between your spread legs. Like she isn’t affected at all.

“Kiss me. Please.” You can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed by how easy you are for her.

“Good girl,” she says softly and finally closes the distance between you. Her first kiss is sweet—a gentle press of lips, a soft hello—but it quickly turns deep and devouring. She licks along the seam of your mouth then sweeps her tongue inside until you’re gasping for air.

Jesus, it’s even better than you could have ever imagined. You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this, so thorough and greedy. Carol tastes like chapstick and rum and you’re drunk on her in moments.

One of her hands rests on your waist, while the other grips the back of your neck, holding you in place for her. She sets the pace, giving you time to breathe with teasing kisses along your jaw and neck before pressing her lips to yours, again and again.

She nudges her thigh between yours, pushing up against your cunt through layers of fabric and you grind down against her, moaning into her mouth at the pressure on your throbbing clit. Carol’s hands start to work at the hem of your dress, rucking it up your legs in fistfuls until she’s stopped by the barrier of her own body. She shifts her leg back, chuckling as you whine at the loss, and tugs your dress up so you’re exposed from the waist down.

She takes a moment to look at you, trailing her eyes from ankle to bellybutton and back, stopping at the space between your legs.

“Hold this,” she says, passing you a handful of your dress, and freeing up her own hand. She taps two fingers on your panties, just over your clit, and even that is enough to have you gasping. “Cute,” she comments, and then she’s sliding under the waistband and her fingers are on your bare skin.

She wastes no time, pressing her fingers between your folds. She quirks an eyebrow at the sopping mess of you, almost shamefully wet for so little contact. “I told you,” you stutter through shallow breaths, “you look good in a suit.”

Carol grins, dipping two fingers into your pussy. You roll your hips to try and coax them inside you. “I must look really good if you’re this easy already,” she teases.

She drags slick up to your clit, circling it as she kisses your neck, sucking occasionally then dragging her teeth over the tender flesh. It doesn’t take long before you’re coming, cunt pulsing as you moan her name. Before you can catch your breath she’s pulling you away from the wall, gripping you by the shoulders and turning you around. She marches you the handful of steps to your desk, leaning in until her lips are next to your ear. “Hands on the desk,” she orders.

You eagerly comply, resting the heels of your palms on the sharp edge of your desk. Carol unzips your dress, then pushes the straps off your shoulders and down your arms, pulling them over your hands one at time. The dress falls to your feet, followed by your panties, and suddenly you’re completely naked even as Carol stands fully clothed behind you.

She takes your hands in hers, gripping your wrists, and moves them to the other side of the desk, before pressing a palm to the small of your back with just the slightest hint of her power. She bends you over until your breasts press against the cool surface and your back is forced to arch, ass tilted on display for her.

Her hands stroke down the skin of your back and you shiver.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll warm you up,” she says, even though your trembling has nothing to do with the temperature of the room and you think she knows that.

She nudges her foot against one of yours and you widen your stance, spreading your legs wide. Her hand follows the curve of your ass to where you’re still wet and dripping for her, fingertips teasing at your opening.

It hits you suddenly that anyone could walk by and catch you in here. They’d take one look through the glass walls of your office and know. You didn’t even think to flip the switch to opaque the walls and now it’s too late; the panel is next to the door and you wouldn’t move now if flames were licking at your heels. Anyone passing by would see your dress on the floor, see your legs stretched wide around Carol’s figure and they’d know.

To your surprise, the idea of getting caught only adds to your excitement. You don’t have time to ponder your newly discovered kink because two of Carol’s fingers press into your pussy and immediately start thrusting fast and hard, working you back up so quickly your head spins.

The room is soon filled with the sound of her fingers moving inside you and the wet slap of her palm hitting your ass as she fucks you. Your whimpers and moans rise to join the chorus.

Carol presses close to your body, her front against your back, and the coarse fabric of her suit on your overheated skin adds to the fire building inside you. The vulnerability of being completely bare while she’s fully clothed and holding all the power has you melting against the desk, boneless and soft, there to take whatever she gives you.

Her lips press against your cheek in chaste kisses and she licks into your open mouth but you can’t keep up, so overwhelmed with the pleasure of her fingers inside you. She’s up to three now, filling and stretching you, fucking you faster than any normal human could.

She stands up straight again and brings her other hand around your hip to stroke at your clit, matching the speed of her thrusting fingers. You’re coming in seconds, even harder than before, clamping down on her fingers in vice-grip pulses as your hips stutter and jerk.

Carol brings you down gently this time, letting you hold her fingers inside as her other hand circles your clit slowly, giving you every aftershock of pleasure she can. She bends over you again, pressing gentle kisses to the sweat-slick skin of your neck and shoulders as you come down, only sliding her fingers from you when the last pulses are gone.

You manage to turn over, leaning back against the desk on boneless legs, just in time to see Carol licking at her fingers with a pleased-sounding hum. She winks at the hitch in your breath. “That was amazing, baby. Thank you,” she says.

You gape at her. “Thank me? Thank you. I’ll never be able to work here again,” you muse, breathless and hazy. “I’m only going to be thinking about that.”

She laughs and leans in for a kiss, trading the hint of your taste on her tongue.

“Can I go down on you? Please,” you blurt when she pulls away.

Her eyes widen slightly, like maybe she wasn’t expecting you to return the favour, but her lips curl in a teasing smile. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” She trades places with you so you’re standing in front of her as she leans against the desk. “On your knees,” she commands, and you follow, sinking to the floor on top of your discarded dress.

She undresses, but only as much as she has to, slouching off her jacket and leaving her shirt and tie. She undoes her belt buckle with deliberate slowness, then the button and fly of her pants. Finally, she toes off her shoes and removes her pants with surprising grace, and of course, she isn’t wearing underwear so you’re inches away from dark blond curls and pink folds. Your mouth waters with anticipation. You glance up for permission and Carol nods, spreading her legs. “Go ahead.”

God, you want this to be good for her. You settle in, resting your hands on the hard muscle of her thighs, feeling the soft hairs there against your palms. You spread her open with your tongue and take a few exploratory licks, getting her taste in your mouth, earthy and sharp, before you focus on her clit.

As expected, Carol takes charge of this too. She grinds against your lips, fists her hands in your hair to guide you, and keeps up a steady stream of praise. All, good girl; right there; doing so well for me, baby.

Other than the words spilling from her lips she’s quiet mostly, heavy breathing and the occasional gasp, but you know you must be doing something right because there’s no shortage of slick wetness seeping from her cunt to coat your tongue. You feel a distinct rush of pride whenever you manage to make her moan.

You pull out every trick you’ve got as you work, needing to make this good; you can’t bear the thought that this might be the only time you get to do this.

You lap at her clit in long, firm strokes, not sure how she feels about penetration and unwilling to take your lips away from her clit to ask. You keep your focus there, encouraged by the way her hips buck and her breaths get shorter and sharper like they’re being forced from her lungs in time with your tongue.

“Right there,” Carol gasps. “Don’t stop—fuck.” Your jaw aches but you hold steady, flicking over her clit as quickly as your tongue allows as her thighs tense and her breathing stops entirely. Then, with a long, low moan, all the tension leaves her at once as she comes, hips stuttering against your face. You slow down but keep up the motion until she twitches away.

Licking your lips, you sit back on your heels, face turned up to look at her. Her hair is messy, her cheeks and lips flushed deep pink, and her brown eyes seem even darker. She’s undone even more buttons on her shirt at some point and it gapes open, revealing a plain white bralette and an appealing strip of pale skin.

She smiles warmly down at you. “You look good on your knees,” she says, and your face burns as she studies you. Her eyes flit from your face, where you feel your mouth and chin still soaked with her slick, down your naked body, to your hands clasped in your lap. She reaches down, swipes a thumb across the mess on your face and presses it between your lips. Automatically you suck, pulling the taste of her into your mouth again until she takes her hand back.

There’s a moment or two of silence, and as you become aware of the soreness in your jaw and knees, and the fact that you’re kneeling naked on your office floor, you can’t help but start laughing, giggling uncontrollably as you flop down to sit on the floor completely. Carol laughs too, though less hysterically and seemingly in reaction to you more than any humour she finds in the situation.

“Oh my God,” you gasp through peals of laughter. “We just had sex. In my office. Where I work. This is not at all how I imagined this would go.”

Carol’s eyebrows raise at your accidental admission. “How exactly did you imagine it?” she asks. “And how often?” she adds, quirking her brows playfully.

You cover your face with your hands and groan as heat rushes to your cheeks yet again. Luckily, Carol rescues you from your embarrassment, effortlessly pulling you up from the floor for a kiss before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Wanna get a pizza or something? I’m starving.”

+++

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting in a booth at the only pizza place in town, the two of you the only diners in the restaurant. Carol’s telling you a story about a brawl she got into at a bar on some planet called Argor while you both devour greasy slices of cheap pizza. Her feet nudge against yours occasionally under the table and she touches you casually as she talks.

You’re surprised at how comfortable it is between you. Even as you got dressed, handing each other articles of clothing you picked up off the floor and walking to the garage for your car. Carol’s easy charm and confidence keep the conversation running smoothly, and something about her demeanour must rub off on you because you don’t feel awkward at all.

You revel in the way she can be so dominant and poised but such a snarky dork at the same time, and you find her wide, genuine smiles just as charming as those cheeky little smirks.

As you’re nearing the end of your meal, with no mention of going out or even hooking up again, you decide you have to ask. You’re stupid enough (and infatuated enough) to agree to whatever arrangement Carol is looking for here, even though you know casual sex will only end in heartbreak for you, but you have to at least know, at the risk of spoiling the entire evening.

“So,” you start, gathering your courage. “Was this just—I mean, are you only looking for something casual right now, or?” you trail off.

Carol blinks at you over her coke. “Are you asking if I’m only interested in sex?”

You nod.

“Um, no,” she admits, shrugging. “The plan was actually to ask you out tonight. I was gonna show up, flirt with you a little—did you know you’re very cute when you’re flustered?” she teases, tapping your shin with her foot before continuing. “Then I was going to ask you out. But then you were wearing that dress and I got kinda carried away, I guess.”

“Oh. Wow.” Somehow, even after having her interest in you very must confirmed (at least physically) you still weren’t expecting that.

She nods. “Yep. I mean, I’ll be honest, I definitely would have tried to fuck you on the first date” she says, grinning at you over her drink, “but I did plan on there being a first date. Not that I have much experience with those on Earth, in this century.” She pauses, considering. “Is karaoke still cool?”

“Was karaoke ever cool?”

Carol’s lips twitch but she holds back her smile, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You should watch that attitude, baby, or I might have to punish you,” she says, pitching her voice low and smirking when your breath catches.

If you thought having a conclusive answer to the question, “Is Carol Danvers into me?” would keep her from dominating your thoughts, you were dead wrong. You’re pretty sure you’re going to be thinking about her even more now.

Bucky is going to be unbearably smug about it.

+++

A/N: Do I have a whole backstory of how Reader and Bucky became friends even though it has no relevance to this fic? Yes, yes I do.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed 😊 (Also, if you notice any typos or grammar mistakes, feel free to let me know!) Text divider courtesy of writeyourmindaway!

[lovelyirony]

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home. 

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing. 

Thank god they were almost home. 

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed. 

A metal arm. 

Huh. 

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here. 

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct? 

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow. 

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were. 

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around. 

His eyes widen. 

“You--what?” 

The voice is surprisingly American. 

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising. 

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk. 

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch. 

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.” 

“What--huh?” 

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?” 

“I do not know what you are talking about.” 

His eyes get cold again. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am the Asset.” 

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is. 

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle. 

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs. 

- 

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside. 

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?” 

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.” 

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.” 

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?” 

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?” 

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.” 

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out. 

- 

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes. 

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

- 

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t. 

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones. 

And this is where it hits him. 

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over. 

Yeah, you’d need a bit more. 

Like a fucking super soldier serum. 

- 

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock. 

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps  Model-T.) 

- 

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick. 

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch. 

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks. 

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue. 

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?” 

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him. 

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it. 

Fury yells at him for two hours. 

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours. 

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--” 

“He’s retired,” Tony says. 

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.) 

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks. 

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people. 

Tony grins. 

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?” 

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.” 

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows. 

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there. 

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school. 

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.” 

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor. 

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious. 

Then, there’s the attack on New York. 

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah. 

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies. 

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh. 

- 

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills. 

“You know about Winter Soldier?” 

“Barnes? Yeah.” 

“You know who he is?” 

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.” 

Steve overhears. 

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.” 

“Why is that the phrase you use?” 

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?” 

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew. 

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad. 

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD. 

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people. 

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals. 

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.) 

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor. 

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him. 

-

Helicarriers go in the water. 

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all. 

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt. 

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.” 

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.” 

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.” 

“Is everything a joke to you?” 

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?” 

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.” 

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?” 

“With toasted bread?” 

“I’m not an animal, Steve.” 

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts. 

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines. 

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.” 

“Fuck.” 

- 

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure. 

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.” 

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.” 

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida. 

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?” 

“Multitask, Sir.” 

“Oh, true.” 

- 

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip. 

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much. 

“We have to wait,” Tony says. 

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows. 

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous. 

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically? 

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.” 

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.” 

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.” 

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.” 

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?” 

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.” 

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Will do.” 

- 

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.” 

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.” 

“Do you care what he thinks?” 

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice. 

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...” 

“Shared history?” 

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.” 

And then he jumps off a balcony. 

A fucking balcony. 

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session. 

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa. 

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.” 

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.” 

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?” 

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.” 

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.” 

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.” 

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?” 

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.” 

“Got it. And Tony?” 

Her voice is soft. 

“Yes, dear?” 

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same. 

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

- 

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices. 

Steve texts him. 

bucky’s back. holy shit 

be back in a week. radio silence. 

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink 

:(((( 

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.” 

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise? 

Maria was...Maria was different. 

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate. 

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable. 

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it. 

So yeah. 

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable. 

So he flies back to New York. 

- 

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is. 

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.” 

“Ah, there’s that.” 

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.” 

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response. 

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t. 

“Jail would be more fitting.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.” 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.” 

“Why a cannibal?” 

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.” 

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.” 

-

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life. 

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip. 

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling. 

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty. 

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.) 

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made. 

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen. 

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?” 

Shit. 

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche. 

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?” 

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?” 

“We can break it down over coffee.” 

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.” 

Tony blinks. 

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.” 

“I still killed your parents.” 

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.” 

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.” 

Bucky’s face blanks. 

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.” 

“I...I want to make it up to you.” 

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.” 

- 

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries. 

Bucky smiles. 

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it. 

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more. 

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games. 

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail. 

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”  

Tony laughs. 

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.” 

“Just observation, no armor required.” 

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?” 

Bucky smiles. 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll need feedback.” 

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.” 

- 

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back. 

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases. 

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.” 

Tony laughs. 

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.” 

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky. 

- 

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest. 

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.) 

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions. 

(They both know that’s not it.) 

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups. 

- 

Steve calls them out on it. 

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.” 

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts. 

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?” 

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.” 

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.” 

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient. 

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.” 

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.” 

“Technically, Tony surprised me.” 

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.” 

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers. 

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.” 

Tony snorts, smiling. 

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.” 

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.” 

[marvelousstevetony]

Hello! Could you do something with Steve just being really cuddly when he’s sick?🥰 Thank you!

Hi, anon! I love sick, cuddly Steve so much, so of course! I was going to keep this short and sweet, but apparently I’m incapable of keeping things short, so... Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic of Steve getting sick right after Christmas and Tony being super soft with his sick bf <3 

(3.8k words, stevetony, established relationship)

It starts the night of the 25th. The team had been gathered in the Tower’s penthouse, the floor where Tony and Steve reside, for all of Christmas Day. It had been fun. A lot of fun, actually.

They started off by eating breakfast together, an objectively over-the-top brunch buffet with everything one could desire during the holidays.

Then they moved on to exchanging and opening presents, which unsurprisingly took a very long time, seeing as there were an abundance of presents to get through and everyone likes to take the time to see the others open their presents one by one.

When every present had been opened, the games begun. They started with the board games, and, as usual, it got… competitive. Tony won at Scrabble, much to the annoyance of Bruce, who has been in a deeply committed relationship the the crossword section of the newspaper ever since he moved into the Tower.

Clint and Natasha destroyed everyone at charades, which wasn’t a surprise. The two of them have an uncanny spiritual connection that probably should be a bit worrying, but no one ever dares questioning.

Monopoly ended by the board being thrown and fake bank notes drizzling down over them like the snowflakes coloring New York white outside the windows. Steve almost looked apologetic when Clint had landed on his property with a hotel for the second time in a row and sent the board flying.

Steve won Cards Against Humanity because, contrary to popular belief, Steve Rogers had a very dirty mind. He always blushes, though, when he has to admit which answer he submitted, and Tony’s a weak man who, with one hundred percent’s certainty, has to call him out on his filthy thoughts and make his cheeks go an even deeper shade of scarlet.

They teamed up to play Trivial Pursuit, which Tony and Bruce won by a long shot. It had been unfair, really. Steve and Nat did pretty good, but they were no way near the the level of two literal geniuses with several Ph.D.s. Thor and Clint were shit, to be frank. Clint knew the answer to some of the questions, mostly in the Entertainment category, but Thor, god bless him, was a complete goner for the entire game.

Thor excelled, however, when they moved from board games to drinking games. Even as everyone else, except Steve, got progressively more intoxicated, Thor could just keep going like a bottomless pit. Perk of being a Norse God. The only game Thor didn’t win was beer pong, which did not please him very well. He tried to excuse his loss by saying that Clint had an unfair advantage, to which the rest of the Avengers nodded in agreement. Clint, the ever so smug asshole, just smirked.

As Christmas dinner was served, they started sobering up. It was a feast like never before and it left every Avenger with a full stomach and undoubtedly a heart bursting with sheer joy and happiness.

The day ended with them watching some Christmas movie on the couch, and when all eyelids slowly began slipping shut, they agreed it was time to call it a day. Wishing each other a merry Christmas, everyone took off to their respective floor, leaving Steve and Tony to themselves.

Steve feels the overwhelmed exhaustion wash over him as he steps out of the steaming shower. He didn’t notice it earlier, but now that he finally lets himself relax fully, he has to sigh at how his body aches slightly and how tired his eyes are.

Tony’s already in bed when Steve emerges from the ensuite wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, abs and chest fully on display. He’s about to make some salacious comment that’ll unquestionably make Steve go all shy, and then he’ll call him out for being a prude even though Tony knows for a fact (thank you, Cards Against Humanity) that Steve’s mind is just as dirty as his own. But when Tony looks at Steve’s face, he detects something fatigued about Steve’s expression as he’s putting on his pajama pants and a white t-shirt.

“Hey,” Tony calls out, but his voice is soft. “You’re looking a little peaky there. You alright?”

“What? Oh. Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve assures with a small smile. “Just tired,” he adds as he settles onto the bed next to Tony.

Tony hums in reply and pulls Steve closer until Steve’s head is positioned on Tony’s chest, and Tony’s face is nuzzling into the freshly washed, golden hair. Steve snakes his arms around Tony’s waist and cuddles him in close. When Tony’s fingers start trailing up and down Steve’s back, the soldier closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh into the fabric of Tony’s t-shirt.

“You’re really cuddly today, aren’t you, sleepyhead?” Tony chuckles as Steve buries himself deeper under the comforter and rubs his face into Tony’s bosom.

Steve mumbles something unintelligible but it sounds like a confirmation to Tony’s question.

“Did you have a nice Christmas Day?” Tony tries, hoping for an actual answer this time.

“Mhmm,” Steve murmurs. “The best. Thank you, Tony… love you.”

Tony can’t help but smile at how low and affectionate Steve’s voice is, or at how peaceful and young he looks when he’s tugged up next to Tony like this. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Tony kisses the top of Steve’s head and turns off the bedside lamp. “Merry Christmas.”

***

They wake up the same way they fell asleep, with Steve wrapped around Tony’s body like a koala bear and Tony’s face mushed into Steve’s hair. They let themselves sleep in for once, praying that the call to assemble would wait at least a few more days, and it felt so good to actually wake up together. Normally, Steve would go out for a run or hit the gym, or Tony would have an early meeting, so it’s always a treat when both of them are still in bed when they wake.

“G’mornin’,” Steve croaks, his voice husky from sleeping.

“Morning, babe,” Tony replies. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, good, thanks. You?” Tony nods. “Good.”

They’re quiet for a bit, taking time to fully wake up from what had been a pretty sweet slumber. Steve’s the first to move, pulling himself out of Tony’s embrace to sit up against the headboard, and almost on cue, his nose twitches and he yanks the collar of his t-shirt over the nose and mouth.

“h’tschoo!”

“Bless you,” Tony says without even thinking about it. Steve always sneezes first thing in the morning, so Tony learned when they started sleeping together. It’s become so routinely it would be more unusual if he didn’t sneeze once after shifting himself into a sitting position.

No, the thing that surprises Tony is that Steve keeps his face covered after he’s sneezed.

“h’uhhh… UhhTsschoo! TChoo!”

Tony frowns. “Bless you?” It sounds more like a question, but Tony’s so confused because Steve never sneezes more than once in the morning.

Steve nods his thanks, but his eyes are still shut, and his facial expression is adorably and endearingly vulnerable when his brows are raised in an expectant frown like that.

“he’USHhh! Oh.”

Steve sighs breathlessly as he loosens his grip on the t-shirt.

“You’ve sneezed four times,” Tony states and glares concernedly at his boyfriend. “That’s not like you.”

Steve sniffles and shrugs. “It’s nothing, babe,” he says as he gets to his feet. “Probably just a tickle.” Steve leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony looks at Steve again, worry clear on his face.

Steve smiles reassuringly. “I’ll get breakfast started,” he says and leaves the bedroom with a soft glance over his shoulder.

***

Breakfast is nice, as expected. Steve could potentially make the best pancakes in all of New York according to Tony. They’re decadent and sweet, covered in various toppings from fruits and berries to chocolate chips. It doesn’t hurt that Steve looks sinfully good while flipping the pancakes in the air, or that the entire scene seems like it could be straight out of Tony’s imagination, of his dreams of living a domestic and normal life with Steve.

When Tony has eaten what’s definitely too many pancakes, he notices that Steve has barely touched his.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, frowning at the stack of uneaten pancakes on Steve’s plate. “You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

Steve looks at the pancakes and smiles sheepishly, then looks up at Tony through his eyelashes. “Hmm… not very hungry, I guess,” he shrugs and begins picking at the food with his fork.

That’s not like Steve at all. It’s usually quite the task satisfying the super-soldier’s hunger. Tony doesn’t push it, though. Instead, he just observes the way Steve’s head is slightly ducked and how his cheeks are flushed a pale shade of pink.

***

They spend most of the day cuddling up on the sofa and watching whatever bad Christmas movie is on the tv.

“Why are we watching these?” Tony asks half way through the third movie about two strangers pretending to be lovers for Christmas so their family won’t taunt them for being single, only for them to actually fall in love and kiss in the snow and blah, blah, blah. “The acting is terrible,” Tony grumbles, “and they’re so cheesy!”

“It’s Christmas, Tony. We’re watching them because they’re cheesy,” Steve chuckles, but then it turns into coughing, and Steve leans away from Tony to cough into the crook of his elbow.

“Woah,” Tony says, gently rubbing Steve between his shoulder blades as he continues coughing, sounding rough and throaty. “That sounds awful, babe.”

When Steve is finally able to catch his breath he shakes his head and settles back into the cushions. “Sorry,” he croaks. “I think I swallowed the wrong way.”

Tony narrows his eyes warily and opens his mouth to comment on how his eyes look at little bleary and how his nose is the same color as his pinkish cheeks, but before he can speak, Steve has switched back to talking about the movie.

***

Steve starts sniffling around dinner time. Or, well, to be completely honest, Steve had been sniffling throughout most of the day, but as they sit down to eat some of the leftover turkey, stuffing and mash from the day before, they become more frequent and insistent. He even has to excuse himself from the table to go blow his nose in the bathroom, and when he comes back, Tony’s looking at him with concern sparkling in his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony says softly and takes Steve’s hand in his as Steve sits back down.

“Hey,” Steve echoes and return the squeeze Tony gives his hand. His voice is raspy, and he has to sniffle again before he brings his other hand to scrub at his nose.

“You look wiped. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I… yeah, I’m just— snff! oh, um, juuhhst… h-hold on. h’uhhH! USShhh��iiew! EIshh’ooh!”

“Bless you… Steve,” Tony adds with a pointed look when Steve looks away.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, bashfully. “snff! Might be catching a cold,” he admits and pushes his index finger under his septum.

“Hmm, I think so,” Tony says thoughtfully. “Though, I think you’re past catching it,” he amends when Steve has to turn away to sneeze into the sleeve of his jumper again. “Bless you,” Tony says and smiles sympathetically, getting to his feet to grab some tissues from the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Steve sighs when Tony returns with a box of Kleenex and gratefully accepts the handful of tissues Tony offers him. He blows his nose, attempting to be polite and quiet, but the nose blowing just makes him cough into the tissues instead. The choked sounds synchronize with the way Steve’s body rattles with each cough.

Tony fills Steve’s glass with water and hands it to him when the coughing dies down.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles with a defeated look on his face, and Tony makes a concerned noise at how rough and exhausted his voice sounds.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad?” Tony asks. He brushes a few stray strands of golden hair away from Steve’s forehead and cups his cheek with his hand afterwards.

Steve can’t help but lean into the touch a little, to the warmth of Tony’s palm against his skin. “I swear, I’ve been okay until… until just now, I think. It’s come on pretty quickly.”

“Hmm… you were really tired last night, though,” Tony recalls. “Thought it might’ve been because it was a long day, but maybe not…”

Steve frowns a little. “I don’t even remember that…”

“You weren’t hungry at breakfast either,” Tony adds. He should’ve noticed the signs, really, Tony thinks to himself. The fatigue and exhaustion, the unusual number of morning sneezes, the missing appetite. It all seems pretty symptomatic. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, I should’ve put two and two together—“

“Hey. If I can’t even tell when I’m getting sick, then there’s no way you’d able be to,” Steve says softly.  

“But still,” Tony argues weakly. He doesn’t push it further, though. “Anyways… I think we’re allowed an early night, then. It’s still Christmas and we have absolutely no work to do.” Steve smiles at that, Tony too, because that might just be the best Christmas present they could’ve hoped for.

They finish eating and start loading the dishwasher. As they make their way around the kitchen, wiping the counters with a tea towel and rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, Tony notices how Steve moves slower, his posture more sluggish than usual. He’s rubbing at his eyes a lot, too, and pinches the bridge of his nose when the sharp kitchen lights hit his eyes several times. Tony doesn’t call attention to it, but he observes quietly, heart squeezing tightly.

Steve sighs deeply when he starts the dishwasher and leans over the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the surface. Tony comes up behind him, pressing his chest against Steve’s back and snakes his arms around Steve’s waist, resting his forehead against the muscles between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“Bed,” Tony murmurs and plants a kiss at the nape of the soldier’s neck, right where the soft, blonde hair starts.

“I think I need a shower first,” Steve says, unenthusiastically. He sounds like he’d rather let himself fall face-first into the mattress and not move for the next 36 hours.

Then he shivers violently, and Tony can see the goosebumps on his neck. “Mmm… A nice, warm shower. I can bring the heated blanket up if you’re cold?”

“That— okay, yeah, that might be… that’d be really nice,” Steve admits. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony chuckles lightly. “You don’t have keep thanking for all these small things, Steve,” he tells him. “I like taking care of you.”

Tony knows Steve is blushing even though he can’t see his face. He can feel the way Steve shuffles uncomfortably, the way he bows his head slightly and bites his lip to stop the creeping smile.

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, a little hesitant. He usually doesn’t like asking for reassurance, but sometimes it’s nice being affirmed that yes, I actually care about you, Steve.

“Definitely,” Tony responds without a moment of uncertainty. “Now. Get going, Rogers. The sooner I get you into bed the more time we have without having to move.”

***

Steve emerges form the bathroom with a towel hanging low around his hips, his hair damp and face all flustered. He still looks tired, though, like standing under the hot spray drained him from what remaining energy he had left. Which has now reached zero percent.

Tony is already in bed, scrolling through his phone with a silly smile playing on his lips.

“Why’re you smiling like that?” Steve grins as he pulls his pajama pants on.

Tony turns the screen to Steve, who also starts smiling. Tony sighs and looks at his phone once more with loving eyes, almost as if he was looking at a puppy or a baby.

“I remember this like it was yesterday,” he said reminiscently.

“That’s because it was.”

“Oh, yeah… well, I love this picture. I think it might be my new favorite photo of us.”

“Says the man who refused to wear the ugly Christmas sweater,” Steve says and quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, hush. I like it better when you wear one too,” says Tony truthfully and taps at his phone a few times to make the picture of him and Steve sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace while wearing matching Christmas sweaters his background screen.

Steve had insisted that they’d wear one for Christmas Day. Tony had said no. He was not going to spend an entire day in a Captain America sweater with decorated with snowflakes all over it. However, when Steve had shown up with the Iron Man helmet with a Santa hat, Tony had drastically changed his mind.  

Obviously they had gotten teased for it. Clint made gagging noises for the majority of the day, pointing out how corny and cliché it was, and if all of Tony’s attention hadn’t been on how good Steve looked in red and gold, Tony might’ve ended up agreeing with Clint.

Natasha hadn’t said anything, not really, but the mischievous glint in her eyes was purposely obvious, and she too had spent a great amount of time snickering at them. Even Bruce couldn’t hide an eye roll every once in a while, but it was mostly followed by him shaking his head with a fond smile.

Thor seemed to have liked them though, and he insisted that next year they all should get matching Avengers sweaters. Sadly for Thor, no one but him seemed to be in favor of that idea.

“I’d wear that sweater every day if you wanted me to, but I think Clint might just kill me if I did,” Steve chuckles as he joins Tony on the bed.

“Probably,” Tony agrees. “But you did look really good in that,” he smirks and places the phone on the nightstand. Scooting closer to Steve, he lifts an arm for Steve to slip under, which seems like a very welcome invitation, because Steve is instantly lying with his head resting on Tony’s chest, one arm slung loosely over Tony’s stomach.

Steve lets out an involuntary sigh when Tony starts running a soothing hand up and down Steve’s arm while lacing their fingers together with the other.  

“Now I know,” Tony starts, waiting for Steve to looks up at him, and when does, he continues, “that you like sleeping like this the you’re sick. You did the exact same last night; draping your entire body over me like a koala.”

After taking a second to catch on, Steve goes bashful and begins to slowly draw back from Tony’s hold. Tony just hugs him tighter, though, and kisses the top of his head.

“I never said I minded… I like it too,” Tony assures. “Even when you’re all sniffly.”

With that, Steve melts back against Tony, relaxing again.

They lie in comfortable silence for a bit, only interrupted by the soft sniffles that seem to turn more insistent with each passing second. They become more frequent, too, and Steve has to let go of Tony’s hand to rub his nose against his wrist when he feels his nose beginning to prickle.

When that doesn’t work, he tries nuzzling his face into Tony’s shoulder, and lets out quiet groan when the itch is still there.

“You alright?”

“I thigk I h-have… huh? snffSNF! Ugh. I have to sndeeze.” His voice is starting to sound more congested, and his eyes are watering when his breaths come shorter and he scrunches up his nose. Wiggling it back a forth a couple of times seems to coax the tickle forward, and he tries to turn in Tony’s grip when the buzzing becomes too demanding, but Tony’s just pulls him back in, fasting his grasp.

“Tooh- Tony, I…” Steve warns, but the brunette doesn’t let go and Steve ends up stifling back two strong sneezes into Tony’s t-shirt. “uhNGxxt! N’GKt!” Holding back the sneezes makes him cough, and trying to hold those back makes him cough even worse.

He pulls fully away from Tony now, even though Tony is telling him to lay back down, that he doesn’t mind at all. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed so he’s sitting with his back hunched forward, he lets himself cough more freely.

Tony props up on his elbow, resting a warm hand on Steve’s back when the alternating coughs and sniffles turn into heavy, desperate gasps.

“HESHishh! ehhYISHhee!” The sneezes burst out with such force that his body jerks forward, aiming them down towards the floor. “uhhISHh’iew! ih! ihh… ISH! huhhHISH’oo!” He coughs a little again, then gives himself a shake to clear the lingering tickle.

“God bless,” Tony says sympathetically and pulls at Steve’s sleeve. “C’mon, honey, lay back down.”

Steve casts a glance over his shoulder to look at Tony, but shakes his head. “I doad thi’gg I’mb fidnished,” he says, voice thick and low.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony replies and tugs at him again, this time successfully managing to get him back into their previous position.

However, after only a few seconds, Steve has to lift his head from Tony’s chest to let out a few smaller, softer tsshoo! tsh! sneezes down at the blankets.

“Bless you,” Tony mumbles into the blonde hair when Steve has settled down again.

“Snff! Thank you,” Steve sighs. “I’m so sorry, Tony, you’re gonna catch this…”

“Probably,” Tony agrees, then shrugs. “If it means I get to cuddle up with you for a couple of days then I won’t complain. Plus, if either of us is sick on New Year’s we’ll have an excuse for missing that crappy party.”

Steve chuckles and smiles fondly up at Tony. “Pepper’s going to have your head if you cancel, you know.”

“I know… but this — you. This is worth all the angry voicemails I’ll receive and all the flowers I’ll have to buy her afterwards.” Tony glances down, locking his eyes on Steve’s blue ones, red-rimmed and watery, but just as beautiful as they always are. He goes quiet for a bit, taking a second to appreciate the moment. A few years ago, Tony would have never seen himself end up this… this happy. But then came Steve, and suddenly every expectation Tony had for himself went out the window. It’s incredible, Tony thinks, how one person can change everything.

“Steve?” Tony breathes.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | A MYSTERIOUS INTERLUDE

first time reader click here

This is a scrapped chapter. Originally, I was planning to 1) give Reader a longer, more intense destructive streak before her ending up with Tony. I planned three or so chapters that involved an abusive Quentin Beck, but, ultimately decided that to be too cliché. 2) I had planned to write at least 30% of the fanfic in Tony's/third person POV. This chapter would have been number 11/12 - Tony would have rejected her advances in the lab & she would have got hooked on Beck's charming facade.

Why am I publishing this? It seems like a waste if effort to shelf it, plus, it's Tony's POV. You can skip it since it has no relation/bearing on the current story. Just a tiny "what might have been" tidbit.

It was a moment's notice. One second, they're standing in a group, laughing, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace, chattering amongst themselves, telling tall tales and sipping their liquor. It all goes black briefly, and then they are surrounded by darkness - it's nearly impenetrable, so thick that their voices echo in it.

Tony's body was encompassed by the nanotech suit immediately after his eyes and his brain adjusted to the rapid change of surroundings. His teammates, too, had their skills honed on an instinctive level - the faint thump of Mjölnir in Thor's hands, the golden-green glow of his brother's magic, whirring of Barnes' prosthetic arm. Steve's shield stayed tucked behind the living room couch but his enhanced physique and readiness to fight 24/7 has him covering the unenhanced Clint and Natasha in mere seconds.

Tony was mostly angry rather than afraid. The team was having a good time at his party and the chance encounters of weird shit like this had been reduced to nearly zero percent possibility thanks to Friday's screening process: supervillains, Hydra agents and the likes strictly prohibited on Stark-owned premises.

It was a strange coincidence Banner had to take a break to check up on one of his experiments not even five minutes before the rest of the team was experiencing the strange change in scenery. Speaking of Strange, the sorcerer also was nowhere to be seen - Tony distinctively remembered seeing Stephen ten feet away from the bar, engaged in a hearty debate with the lead of SI's Medical Engineering department.

"This is not magic," Wanda piped up from behind him, confused. "I don't feel anything on the usual frequency. It sounds more like Friday humming in the walls, like electricity."

Good to know, Tony thought. It was nice having someone who was familiar with the undiscovered side of science - after all, Tony had always considered anything 'magical' to be science he had not personally understood yet. Wanda's most redeeming quality in Tony's eyes was the fact that more often than not she seemed to be as clueless as everyone else when it came to her powers and didn't act so high and mighty as some other people. Cloaked people, and horned people, for example.

"The fuck, man? I was hoping, just one evening, one normal evening with my beer and wings," Clint whined. Tony could hear Natasha huffing in annoyed agreement.

"Mr. Stark, what are we going to do?" His very own spider-child, on the other hand, sounded distraught. Peter's voice has this funny thing it does when the boy is upset but tries to hide it: it quivers on the vowels, wobbles slightly.

Tony had to blindly grope the air for a moment before his arm found Peter's shoulder. The boy was shivering and took the offered comfort eagerly, folding into the older man.

"Okay, whoever is pulling this stunt, my advice is: don't," Tony sighed, 12 000% Done With This Shit™, exclaiming loudly. "If that's a prank, stop it or speak up. If you got beef, then you got some nerve doing this in my tower. Show yourself."

He could feel the fine hairs on his neck stand up as the team tensed next to him, readily gearing up to pounce. Peter was vibrating in Tony's arms and the billionaire suddenly remembered the curious side-effects of Peter's powers, the spidey-sense. It must have been going absolutely haywire - the kid nearly hyperventilated himself into a heart attack.

"Stark, I must apologise for the uncomfortable circumstances. Believe me, it was a necessity - you always demand attention, whereas I need people to pay attention to me for a moment. Don't worry, you'll get yours when the time is due."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Male, slightly nasal but quiet and creeping. Insinuating. It lacked the usual boisterous bravado of a mid-grade bad guy, Tony had to take an educated guess that the owner of the mysterious voice was well-off, white. Privileged. No hint of desperation in it, as if the man was pitying everybody.

"The fuck? Q, is that you?"

Oh shit, Tony realized in muted horror. She must've been hanging around somewhere in their vicinity - which wasn't unusual, the girl usually orbited around Barnes, Wanda, Peter or Bruce. All of whom were present at the party. Tony had forgotten about her, to his shame, somehow having had automatically assumed she trotted out of the room on Bruce's heels. His science bro and her acted like conjoined twins when it came to their scientific ventures.

"Stop talking," The man growled, the voice suddenly coming from a very different direction. Tony heard a distinctively feminine yelp, albeit muffled. Peter violently jerked in Tony's arms. The engineer put the superstrength of his suit to use, holding the teenager down.

"Aw, hell no!" She yelled, the indignant shrieking followed by the sound of a moist palm slapping something glass...y? "What the fuck? I am asking you again. Are you... Oh my God, are you wearing a fishbowl on your head? Ow, motherfu-" The rest of the sentence is muffled, garbled. Whoever this "Q" was, she obviously knew him and he had silenced her. And, apparently, Q had an uncanny choice of headwear.

Tony was sure the rest of the team had followed his lead on doing a spit-take. They've fought enough supervillains with more than questionable fashion sense but a fishbowl? That was new.

"Be quiet, baby. It's for your own good. I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," The Fishbowl chastised her.

Tony's confusion once again returned to irritation at the frivolous way the villain addressed his science buddy. Peter's friend would have been more accurate but Tony had put her into the 'science bro' category not too long ago. They were close, as much as they could be, with the age gap and totally different interests and... The immense amount of guilt Tony felt for his attraction towards the girl. He was a dirty old man and she was barely an adult.

Every damn day Tony did his best to avoid making a shiny, big, new problem. Yet her brains and her wit and the uncanny ability to pull anybody into a conversation had a firm hold on his attention.

"Leave her alone," Stark angrily declared, powering up a repulsor. "What do you want? Party crashing isn't allowed in my tower anymore."

"What I want, Stark, is for you to give credit where it's due," The man answered simply, giving Tony just enough time to shove Peter behind him towards Natasha and take a tentative step forward.

The soft glow emanating from the repulsor illuminated barely two inches around his hand. The darkness surrounding it seemed to swallow the light. Tony moved on quiet feet towards the voice, easily avoiding furniture. His memory was good and he knew his tower, his home, better than anyone else.

"Did I hear that correctly, you're accusing me of plagiarism?" Tony tried for indignant, hoping to provoke the man into an inevitable, drawn-out speech where he lists all the wrongs Tony ever did him, giving the team precious time to regroup and form some semblance of a plan.

"Yes," Q simply answered, pausing for a second. "I hope you enjoy your next adventure. It certainly will show you the potential of my creation."

Tony shared a muted sound of confusion with the rest of the team.

"Q, I am very disappointed," To Tony's horror, th girl stared talking again. She sounded somewhat breathless, and closer to him than before. "Stop it with the dick measuring contest, you're a grown ass man. Go work for OsCorp, or Hammer, drink your sorrows away." She sounded so tired. And even closer to him.

"This is not a dick measuring contest!" Q roared suddenly and wow, that man was unstable. "This was my life's work, my creation, he insulted, berated and threw away!"

"I get it, I really get the whole 'being discarded and thrown away' thing," She replied, somewhat sarcastically. "But you know what? I'll be damned and I'll be fucked if I give some piece of shit any more of my undivided attention. They don't want me? Fine, they can fuck off and take their complaints with them." Her speech was periodically interrupted by shuffling noises.

Tony didn't dare to interrupt, seeing now the possibility of Q being actually calmed down by a teenager (probably) quoting some teen drama TV show.

"But going full Joker? You're a brilliant man, Quen, I wouldn't even look at you twice if not for your brains and your baby blues, however I don't fuck with the bad guys. That shit kills," The hand that rested on the wrist cuff of Tony's suit unmistakably belonged to her. She had the remnants of some sort of wire around it, sleek and quicksilver-shiny, irritating the tender skin under it. "And I want to live. You've gone and pissed off an entire crew of supers and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think, Quen," There was genuine sadness in her voice.

Tony stood silent in confusion.

Whoever this Quen was, they obviously shared a close relationship. Tony's brain ran through the list of her friends, her relatives - there was nobody named Q, Quen or even remotely similar. Natasha had mentioned a possible boyfriend at some point but the man sounded too old for that, he was at least thirty. Or maybe? Tony wouldn't put it completely past the girl, if judging by the blatant way she flirted with Bruce. With himself.

"Baby, this is not about you. I don't want to hurt you," Quen replied, a hysterical edge to his voice. Something began flickering in the distance, attracting Tony's attention to the shape of a man with a round sort of helmet and a red, billowing cape (hello, 2012-Thor!).

"Too late, Quen. You've tied me up and you went on to attack my friends. I've already told you that if you yell at me one more time, I will leave you. So I guess this is it," Her voice broke at the end, pitiful sniffles following the statement.

Tony watched the exchange, mildly uncomfortable and very concerned. The man yelled at her? That was absolutely unacceptable, however, what else could one expect from a maniac with a flair for the dramatic?

The girl bodily placed herself in front of Tony, standing, doing nothing but rubbing her wrists. It was then that the engineer noticed Q nearing them, the shape becoming distinctively closer. And - yep, there it was - the fishbowl on his head. It completely obscured him, making his face invisible, unrecognisable.

The man seemed rather fixated on the girl standing in front of Tony. He floated in front of her, ignoring Tony, taking her bound hands in his own. A brief click and a hiss later, her wrists were released and the contraption fell freely to the floor where it landed with an oddly heavy thud. Tony hoped there was no lead in that thing - supervillains were dangerous but lead poisoning was cancerous and fatal.

"Baby..." Quen timidly touched her face with a leather-bound glove. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Tony took the chance to examine the man's costume. If anything, it looked somewhat steampunk-y? There was a lot of bronze, and the chest brace had some sort of glowing lines on it. Power storage units?

She stared up, towards the man's hidden face. "M'sorry, Quen," She mumbled, going in for a hug. Or that's what Tony thought. The majestic cape that billowed behind Quen was unceremoniously yanked from his body as the girl ducked, covering herself with it, yelling: "TONY, NOW, SHOOT, SHOOT!"

Tony did just that, shot Quen flat in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, tripping on the cape - such a stupid, unexpected thing. But Tony knew, his girl was clever and resourceful. Pride swelled in his chest as he shot the man again, Rogers running out from behind him blindly, body-slamming Quen into the ground for good measure. Two hundred pounds of supersoldier later, the battle was over before it even started.

"No!" The villain shouted as Steve pressed and popped the hilarious glass contraption on his head. The accessory was no match for the Captain's super strength. Tony immediately recognised the man as his former employee, Quentin Beck, and it clicked for him. It was totally a personal vendetta.

"This stuff is tough, plexiglass, maybe," The Captain remarked, pointing at the scattered shards around Beck's head. "It appears to be augmented too, some kind of tech, I don't know. You're good at this, Tony," Steve chuckled humorlessly, roughly turning Beck around and securing his hands with a pair of vibranium-reinforced handcuffs. God only knew where he'd gotten those from.

"Good at what? Making enemies?" Stark couldn't resist the self-depricating joke.

"Stop it, Tony," Natasha's gently admonishing voice interrupted Steve's incoming lecture. Tony, for once, was thankful that the Widow interrupted. He was in no mood to listen to another one of Steve's speeches.

"Who do you work for?" That deadly gleam in Natasha's eyes was terrifying and Beck was only a man.

"I don't work for anyone but myself, thanks to Stark," He spat venomously.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Fired him years ago, this guy was going nuts. Brilliant but crazier than a bag of cats," Tony replied, feigning nonchalance. He could feel a mild headache begin to gnaw at his skull. "We worked on a project together, he got upset that I refused to weaponize it. We had a falling out. End of story." With that, Tony stood up, retracing his suit to only leave the gauntlets on his hands, gathered the various pieces of tech the good captain had removed from Beck's persona and made way towards the nearest table.

Or where he thought it was. All of them were still surrounded by the uncanny darkness. The anxiety that Tony forcefully shut down reared it's ugly head as soon as he lost physical touch with his teammates. He stumbled, his foot catching onto something on the ground.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"Buttercup, I haven't fucked your mother nor I plan to," He snarked back automatically, flooded with relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hope so. She'd probably bite your dick off if you try," A hand was groping his calf and then she stood up in front of him, still clutching the ridiculous cape. It appeared to be a source of light, which was very strange. The girl looked positively demonic, illuminated by red light, face scrunched up, eyes puffy, and clothing in disarray.

"You good?" Tony managed to choke out, confusion and worry and anxiety making his chest tight.

"Balmy. My boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with an inferiority complex," She sassed, an edge of panic to her voice. "Oh, and he tried to kill one of my best friends. I am fine and dandy."

"Your boyfriend?" That was the only thing Tony heard. Bat-shit crazy Beck, his babygirl's boyfriend? There was no way in Hell he'd allow such a thing...

"My ex-boyfriend, I guess," She sighed, removing the cape from her persona. Refusing to meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of her top. "Here," The girl abruptly thrust the cape at him. "This is a funny thing, it's like a hologram but you can actually touch it. You should, uh, probably disinfect it, or something. I've been on-uh, around it many times," It was so unlike her, the fumbling, the embarrassment, Tony wanted to wheel her straight to medical to check if she's gotten concussed again.

Then his brain caught up and all he saw was red. Figuratively and literally - the cape was still in his face, loosely hanging from her outstretched hand. She must've seen the look on his face.

The step she took back was quick and worrying. "Forget I said that, I don't know why I said that. Oh, god."

"What were you thinking?" Tony inhaled a solid lungful, prepared to make his opinion very clear. "Getting involved with a lunatic! For a second I actually thought you were smart, there isn't a chance you missed that the guy is short of a few marbles," His voice was quiet, the one of a calm fury. His words cut deeply and he could see the hurt, the shame in her eyes, on her face. Tony knew he'd regret it later however his brain insisted it was a necessary evil. He continued ranting until he ran out of breath. "Not to mention he's, what, twice your age? And he yells at you and tells you to shut up? It didn't ring any alarm bells in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Tony, stop," Steve's hand landed on the engineer's shoulder and he simply shrugged it off, staring at the quivering girl in front of him.

She was crying, silently, few tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, leaving ugly streaks in her make-up. Tony expected her to sass him, to argue back, to yell obscenities like she usually did when something or someone upset her but he was met with hurt, stunned silence. His worst fear came true when she looked away, shrugging.

He'd seen this sort of dejected shrug the time her father drugged her and... She just took it. She expected it, even, his outrage, his disappointment. Being hurt and mistreated was the norm for her, Tony realized belatedly. There were too many parallels between them both that made him uncomfortable deep inside. His chest felt tight, regret washing over him like a tsunami wave.

"I'm turning on the lights, close your eyes for maximum comfort," Strange's voice announced suddenly, causing everybody to jump and shudder. Tony complied begrudgingly. The sudden influx of light was painful even from behind closed eyelids. His headache became a full-on dull throb.

"What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Is everybody alive?" Resonated across the room. Tony spied several small drones smoking and crackling next to the exit door, Stephen Strange closing a portal he must've used to evacuate the civilians.

The puddle of red holographic cape on the floor. And her hastily retreating back. Damn.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 3: Verse 3

Chapter warnings: math, fantastic racism, death (not graphic)

Chapter summary: the orders

Previous chapter, AO3, next chapter

If I'm a pagan of the good times / my lover's the sunlight

Loki storms the library once again, this time searching everything about the Tesseract and this Entropy they call him all the time.

Entropy still remains a mystery, but there are even more writings about the space stone than the ones they've seen before.

"It says here that they worshipped you," Loki says, but only internally. He's in public, speaking to the walls would make him appear mad.

"People express loyalty in different ways," they answer, always softer since the deal.

"Is that what you want? Loyalty?"

"Among other things, yes. But mostly trust that I will not hurt you, cause I won't," they promise. Loki already knows this.

Can't break something that's already in pieces.

"Brother!" Thor yells as he walks in. Loki's shoulders tense, this idiot never warns them.

"Tho-thor," he answers, eyes on Thor as they drab a chair and side beside him. "How come you be i-i-in here? You ha-ha-hate books," they raise an eyebrow at their brother.

"I'm here to see how you're doing. You've been acting oddly lately," he answers, those blue eyes scanning Loki.

"People grie-grie-grie-grieve in different ways, Th-thor. I a-a-a-assure you, I'm fi-fine," he hums, turning back to the book.

"Loki. After all this, just remember that I'm here for you, eh? You needn't face anything alone," Thor insists, placing a big and steady hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki's body nods, and smiles, watching as Thor smiles back before leaving. Loki's mind wonders if this is all a mistake. Thor was, is grieving too. Maybe this is all too much…

But Thor wasn't there when Gæirasson offended Loki, neither time. In fact, Thor has been a ghost since Frigga's death.

"You have my trust and loyalty, until the end," Loki decides, feeling in their core how relieved the Tesseract is by the answer.

"Allow me to show you another secret then. Look at your hands but don't touch anything and don't let it spread," they answer.

Loki lets the book and brings his torn from the picking hands under the table, always watching them. Black ropes start appearing and tangling themselves on their fingers, creating a calming sensation and demanding more ground, but Loki doesn't allow it. Out of all kinds of magic, this is by far the most powerful one he has ever seen.

And the most chaotic.

To keep the Goddess on my side / she demands a sacrifice

Like every day, the official Tesseract session is late at night, while Loki should be sleeping. Signs of their decreasing amount of sleep are becoming more and more visible, but they don't care.

"The o-orders?" he asks.

"You need to know some things first. In order to keep you from dying, King Laufey made a deal with one of us. Your life for acts of service. You need to do some things before being free," they do speak like they did on the first days, but somehow still softer.

"Acts of s-s-service?" he questions. So, the stone just needs hands and will borrow theirs?

"Yes. There are things that will keep the stones safe from those who seek them to do harm. Asgard has two, and you need to make sure that some things are set to their protection. It's just one thing, really. But you need to use your new powers to do so,"

Loki nods, the movement small and cut, like a soldier's.

"Ready to-to comply,"

Drain the whole sea / get something shiny

"First order. Free yourself from everything, good and bad," the Tesseract says. Loki blinks in confusion.

"H-how?"

"What bad do you carry into you? The possessiveness, the jealousy, this ego you named pride, all this fury… you don't need them from now on. Let them go," they insist.

"L-let them go?"

"Act as if they don't exist, don't give them your attention. The same thing goes for your bright side. You faith in your moral compass, your deep feeling for everything you care about. Both of those sides will keep you from moving on. You mustn't listen to them anymore," they explain, as if it's something easy.

"So… y-y-you want me to be-to be your li-little m-m-minion?" he raises an eyebrow. Is that what they agreed on? Being a tiny pawn but just on a different chess board?

“No. Not exactly. You are not to abandon them for my own good, but for yours. The acts might hurt these sides of you, you need them in one piece,” their voice softens.

Loki takes a breath, in and out as slow as possible, and nods again. “What-what sh-sh-should I-I do?” even though the stutter stays, he refuses to let his voice break.

They swear they can feel the stone smiling.

“Listen to me, and don’t act upon them. Also, learn how to control possibility magic,”

Possibility magic? Is that what the black ropes are?

“Learn how Midgardians think of possibilities. It’s close to how your new abilities work,” they advise him. So, this is what being under the orders of a stone is like? Homework and pretending? it’s nothing they don’t know how to do for hundreds of years…

“And after the-the week?”

“the fun starts.”

Loki smiles wide, wider than he has ever smiled even before Frigga’s death.

something meaty for the main course / that’s a fine looking high horse

The week passes peacefully. Loki doesn’t have to worry about how to do what, the Tesseract is there to help them with it and lets them just decide how to do what and, oddly enough, the Midgardian science was calming.

At least, more calming than war theory. And less graphic.

He was chilling on the training grounds and working on the newfound magic, until the Tesseract came.

“It’s time,” they say moments before a blinding blue light covers Loki.

With the blink of an eye, they’re at a castle’s yard, hiding behind a bush.

“Prevent the war, you know how,” the Tesseract says again.

On the contrary, Loki has no idea where he is and what he has to do.

At least not until a guard passes by, near the bush, their armour bearing Gæirasson's symbol.

They smirk, moving from shadow to shadow and into the castle, where they cast an invisibility spell to navigate without worrying about getting caught.

What you've got in the stable? / We've a lot of starving faithful

In the grand hall, Loki finds the old lord. They're discussing an attack, in which he is the main character, of course. They're to strike tomorrow evening.

Loki has to hold himself not to laugh. Instead, they sit and wait. Wait until Gæirasson ends the council and heads to their bedroom. And Loki follows. Until the corridors make a room, with six doors to navigate through.

It would be such a shame if they suddenly closed shut, locking the two foes inside.

The old fool chuckles. "I know you're here, Frost Giant. I can smell your people's blood," he looks around.

Loki chuckles back and drops the spell, standing right in front of the man.

"Is it this? Or do your aged joins hurt with the cold?" he titles his head, showing his signature mischievous smile.

"Why are you here? To negotiate? We've been past this part," they growl. Loki doesn't break the smirk, but lets a glow pass their eyes. Green, but with icy blue undertones, and a pitch black shadow.

"No. We are here to talk about monsters. For, as you can smell, the blood of my siblings who you slained are screeching for it"

That looks tasty / that looks plenty / this is hungry work

"Do you know anything of my people's belief regarding the Norns?" Loki asks, circling around the man like a predator waiting to strike.

"Why should I care about the opinions of monsters?" he spits, trying to mimic the glare.

"Oh, because it's interesting. We believe in the norns, like you do. But they don't create the strings, they knit them. Twisting and turning and combining and separating people, and letting us choose where to go on each knot. Fascinating. Oddly enough, the mortals have a similar way of thinking, at least the ones who are closer to science. They name it possibilities, and write it with numbers,

"Let me give you an example. There's a fifty percent possibility that I will continue this conversation with my normal face," Loki speaks, letting the Æsir glamour fade and rising to his Jötunn height. "But I won't choose this path because your ceilings are low and I would have to bend my neck," they continue, after walking a few steps and letting their horns scratch the ceiling. The glamour appears again, bringing him to his Æsir skin.

"And there's always the possibility that you die, because of your old age and the stress of the war you created. And the only reason people remember you is as an example of why not to piss me off," he grins, the black ropes tangling around his wrists.

"And the possibility, in Midgardian terms, is one hundred percent," they leap closer and grab the old man by his collar, staring right into the fear in his eyes.

"I have a message for my people in Hel, deliver it when you see them. Tell them to rip this old cunt apart, yet keep one piece for me for when I arrive," he spits, watching as the ropes tangle around their throat and mummify them in front of his eyes, making the fear and anger burn out.

They throw the corpse on the floor and open the doors as the Tesseract casts another light, revealing Loki's chambers as it fades away.

"You shouldn't have scratched the ceiling with your horns," they say, worried.

"And? I laughed at the face of one old fool already, what's a second one? And if I am to join my family, let at least my exit from the hypocrites be dramatic," he laughs, ready for the guards to storm in and take him to the dungeons.

[thorsthot]

golden wedding ✦ thor

note: this is a commission for @myhoneybeeheart. thank you so much!!! also, when writing this, I realized I've already wrote something with this similar concept called Won’t Be So Bad. So, for this I’ve decided to do something a bit different. This also, honestly, go me out of a writing slump and I am so thankful for that

words: 3.4k warnings: smut

pairing: king!thor x queen!reader; arranged marriage/established relationship

summary: A golden wedding is usually referred to as being the 50th wedding anniversary. And on the 50th anniversary of the marriage to a particular God, you recall everything that happened on the night of your wedding. (Oh, and we’re just gonna act like nothing after ragnarok happened and that the asgardians safely made it to earth lmao)

Fifty years. Half a century. Five decades. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a long time to be with someone that you barely knew before your wedding day. And ‘barely knew’ is just pushing it. You admired Thor, since Asgard and even here on Earth. Something about the way he walked around, head held high, broad shoulders; a demeanor that showed he KNEW who he was and his purpose in this universe. He was magical in each and every way.

Word had gotten around that the King of Asgard was looking to court someone special here in Asgard, especially now that the very kingdom was being restored. Men and women alike put on their best clothing and behavior in hopes of finally scoring with Thor. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t either. You’d seen the way he’d walk around to greet everyone or play with some of the newborn babies. A gentleman to everyone he’d ever come in contact with. So it was only pure chance when the royal matchmaker chose you to be queen.

You weren’t sure if Thor had ever even noticed you. If he’d even looked at you in the way that you’d looked at him. And you panicked. What if he wasn’t this man that he’d appeared to be? What if he was horrible, and just an awful man and now, you’d have to spend the rest of your life with him. You worried all up to the wedding day, though, you never backed out from the wedding despite not being allowed to meet Thor in person until your wedding day.

Though weddings for Asgardians are far different from those of Midgardians. However, with the rebuilding of Asgard on Earth's soil, the kingdom could only help to adopt a few of the Earthly traditions. Mostly by the wishes of Thor to engage the traditions of his two homes together. Luckily, the royal matchmaker worked hard to make you worry-free about the political sides of the affair - couldn’t help much in the nerves department, however.

The actual ceremony was quite simple, though, it was still unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. There were golden statues of past monarchs of the kingdom, and which, you, were soon to be one. You’d be seen less as a wife and more as a queen, a companion fit to help rule with Thor. He’d studied you, he has one hundred percent seen you gawking at him from afar. He thought you were beautiful. Everything you did, every time you reached out and helped someone, he saw. He saw the compassion in your eyes whenever you’d talk to someone. He saw you.

And when you walked down the aisle to greet him, soon to be his wife, his queen; he fell in love. At first, it’d just been infatuation, but as you walked to him, staring into his eyes and fully giving him all of you, he fell hard. Your eyes were gorgeous the first time he saw them, but now that he’s looking, their breathtaking. The setting sun shines on them while you stand in front of him. Your eyes tracing every single feature of his face, he’s gorgeous. And he couldn’t help but have this sparkle in his one eye as he looked down at you. It’s like, as he simply looks at you, he can feel how warm your soul is.

There wasn’t an exchange of vows, but later in life, you two would go on to write vows as you fell deeply in love with one another. Through the entire ceremony, not a word was spoken between you two. For a great portion of it, the officiant was mostly speaking. Then came the exchange of rings, and the presenting of the crowns. The tall, golden crown replaced the flower crown you’d been instructed to wear.

The gold went very well with the steel blue dress you wore. The accents of the dress were off-white and gold. A sheer, steel blue scarf wrapped around your arms, hanging low as you held the bouquet of purple, blue, and yellow irises. Beneath the crown laid a veil that began right above your hairline and flowed down to the floor. And your hair had been braided to the side and entangled with flowers. Truly stunning and basking in the sunlight, you stood barefoot before him.

His crown was golden with red lettering. Almost similar to that of his fathers. As they placed the crown atop his head, you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was flourishing. His skin bright and healthy, and he’d been well fed. His beard was long, plated and a nice honey blond color with deep brown roots. A couple of greys sprouted from the hair on his head, and you could tell it’d been washed just before the ceremony. He wore black, something similar to what he might wear in battle, only not at all beaten up. And the eyepatch that fit so perfectly on him, it was once his father’s, pulled the look together. He looked honorable as anybody would follow him into the depths. He was home, he was safe.

You faced each other and joined hands. He stared into your eyes as you did his. A bearer came before you, presenting you with two with chalice cups filled with red wine. In Asgardian wedding traditions, those who are getting married must drink red wine together and then seal the marriage with a kiss. And so you both drank from your chalices; the wine was sweet, bitter and a bit tangy all at once.

Once you both drank, his hands came around your waist. They were warm and tingled a bit when he touched you. He pulled you into his embrace. He smelled good, a natural odor. You breathed in as you closed your eyes before opening them. You looked to him and he smiled, you could’ve melted right in his arms. And with your hands placed on his chest, you closed your eyes once more as he leaned into you. Your lips moved together gracefully, no one had to take much of a lead. It felt right, meaningful as if it was meant to be. Somehow, the stars aligned and the two of you got to meet.

-

There were a lot of people at the reception, many you didn’t know. Small children running around, playing with each other and trying to escape the grasps of the parents that told them to sit still. Adults hung around tables in groups, drinking alcohol and/or arguing with each other about the most recent drama going around Asgard. Small animals ran from small children or drank from the small bowls set out for them.

The sun had nearly set. Lanterns and small lights that resemble butterflies hung from small pillars. Large crystals sat like rocks, catching any amount of light to shine off of. There was a lot of gold and silver strewn all over the place from the cloth on the tables and the decor to the attire each guest was wearing. Big blue bouquets of flowers stood in the center of each table, blocking a few people from seeing the table in which you and Thor were sitting. Every so often someone would come up and wish you success in your marriage; a lot of those words were laced with poison and daggers.

Thor, with amazing intuition, could tell how uncomfortable you were at times. Resting his hand on your thigh and giving you a warm smile. Even whispering to you and saying that the two of you could leave at any time you felt fit. But you continued to say it was fine, beating yourself up in the process of declining. It’s not like you weren’t having a good time, you were, but in the same note, you were dying to leave. Every time his hand touched the inside of your bare thigh, you shuddered. Every time he whispered to you and his breath tickled your neck, you got wetter. Practically torturing yourself trying to wait until after the reception to get fucked.

Weighing out the various options on how to tell him you wanted to leave lasted through the entire reception and the toast. You were completely out of it and didn’t even notice much. But Thor did. He noticed every single time you squirmed from him touching you, every lip bite, and every last whimper followed by a deep breath. He noticed and continued to do the little things that damn near sent you over. Learning small things about you just by how you reacted.

Even how you stopped breathing when he whispered in your ear, “Come on my Queen,” followed by a kiss at your neck.

He led you away from everyone, your hand in his. He walked before you, showing you the way up the stairs and down another hall. You approached a large golden door with white accents. Thor opened the door and let you walk in first, letting go of your hand. Instead, his palm stretched across your lower back, guiding you in, then shutting the door behind you.

The fireplace was already blazing, making the room nice and toasty in contrast with the colder outside. You looked around the room in silence. The room wasn’t decorated as much as you’d thought. It was a huge room, of course, it has a fucking fireplace. There was a grand painting hanging over the fireplace, depicting the old kingdom of Asgard. In the center was a table with a vase of flowers, though unrecognizable to you, were very pretty and gave the muted room a nice dash of color.

“After you,” Thor motioned to the bed. Past the table and up a single step was a huge bed. Covered in muted brown, or deep tan, sheets; and draped over those was a big brown fur. You touched it, the softness of the fur felt like it melted and merged with your hand.

You sat down, and he sat next to you. Sitting in silence for a few seconds was odd as both of you wanted to make the first move, but equally as smitten. It’s like you’re a teenager again, only married. But fuck it, life is short, so you decided to make your move first; well, at the same time Thor decided as well. Incredibly in sync, you both leaned in, locking lips as though you’d always bed doing it.

The kissing had escalated quickly, from lip-locking to love bites and grips at your thigh. Before you knew it, Thor had told you to get on your knees.

And you couldn’t help but kneel before him. There was something about his demeanor, how he stood tall in front of you. The light emitting from the candles and fireplace lit perfectly onto his chest, you could see the heat from the room had taken a bit of a toll on him. The beads of sweat rolling off his chest made you thirsty for him. Thor has been a gentleman this entire night, every single word he’d spoken to you had been laced with mead and silk, rolling off his tongue as if he’d known you his whole life. You wanted him and there was no denying that.

His thumb dipped into your mouth, allowing you to suck on it. But as quick as it came in, it when right back out. He mumbled, “What am I doing?” in a low and playful breath, smiling and confusing you for a second until he picked you up. Softly, placing you on the bed, then pulling you to the edge of it. Still in your dress, he bunched it up to your waist. Without panties, he licks his lips in delight as he spreads your legs.

Licking a long stripe from your asshole to your clit, he begins devouring you. Eating you out as if he hadn’t eaten in a few days. Licking, kissing and sucking at every inch of your pussy. Every time he would moan, the vibrations would shoot straight through your clit, then charge through your entire body. He spread your legs wider, pressing them closer to your chest. He lifted his head, looking up at you, his beard wet with your juices. The cool air hit your cunt, and you shivered, grabbing Thor by his hair and pushing him back into your pussy.

Every moan you made, made his dick harder. He was practically creaming his pants just hearing you. And his cock twitched with every single lick at your clit. He was throbbing, but you were his main concern. His tongue flicked up and down on your clit, and between few licks, he’d kiss and suck on you. Inconsistent at times, but he was teasing. But when your body shook, and the pit of your stomach felt heavier, you pulled at his hair; positioning his head in a way you were sure that would make you cum all over his face.

You were so close, moaning out frantically. Curses and praises left your mouth as you ground against his face. You scratched as his scalp and pulled at his hair once again, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Every single nerve shot to the pit of your stomach and your body felt warm. You could feel your wetness running down your thighs. Everything centered together and the high seemed to last for minutes on end.

“Fuck, I-” It felt like you were screaming. Your eyelids shut tight, and Thor had somehow slipped from your grip on him. Two of his fingers entered you. Thick, long, and now sleek with your juices. You’d minorly came down from your high, but when his fingers curled up inside you, attempting to claim your second orgasm, you wanted to scream.

Barely twenty minutes in and this man wanted to rack up as many orgasms from you as he could. With his free hand, he firmly planted his palm on your lower stomach. He pressed gently, and as he continued to finger you, you could hear the squelching of your wetness. But before you could warn him, let alone warn yourself, you’d squirted all over his arm and torso. Some of the wetness even hitting you in the chest.

It caught you off guard and made you a bit embarrassed. Though, the embarrassment soon faded as Thor warmly smiled; “I wish you did that in my mouth.” To which, your cheeks began to get hot. He took his fingers from you and sucked on them, looking you deep in the eye as he did in.

“I want you,” You proclaimed to him. Nearly tripping over yourself trying to get closer to him.

“You can have me,” He spoke back, standing up.

And you’re back kneeling for him. Palming the ever-present bulge in his pants. Though you couldn’t wait so long, so you pulled down his pants yourself. He also didn’t have any underwear on.

His dick was huge. Thick and uncut, leaking precum from his tip, red and aching. His pubes were gold, trimmed, and curled, though his balls were cleanly shaven. You took his dick into your hand, slapping its tip against your tongue, looking him in the eye as moans slipped from his mouth. Careful with his foreskin, you massaged his cock, moving your hand up and down, spitting on it for less added friction.

He honestly thought that he was going to cum, possibly the quickest he’d ever come, if it had happened. But he kept his thoughts centered elsewhere to prevent coming so prematurely. His eyes squeezed shut tightly as your mouth makes its way around the tip of his dick. “Fuck,”

His chest rose with every deep inhale. As you began to lick around his cock, teasing him when you’d put your mouth around him. And his hands traveled to your face, resting on the sides of you. He moved your face to position you to look up at him. “Open your mouth,”

Thor said it sternly, and you had the wild urge to defy him, but you’d save that for another date. You smiled at him, sticking your tongue out as you opened your mouth. He smiles at the way you obey him, and spits in your mouth, leaving you to go back to his dick. “Good girl.”

The cockiness that’s peering out of him makes you want to talk back and tease. You have a feeling that if you did though, he wouldn’t tolerate it. Which, sounds like a plan for a later time. Now, however, it was about learning of each other and your sexual desires. To which, you were sure both of you would be satisfied.

Dick down your throat, tears in your eyes, and you feel like you need to sneeze; but it doesn’t matter, you love it.

He takes his dick out of your mouth and goes to lie down on the bed. Locked in under his spell you move over to him as he beckons you over. However, he assumes that you would ride him, you now have a better position to lick all over him.

You lick him from base to tip, taking him all, or most, in your mouth, gagging before pulling away. Cock in your hand, you begin to jerk him off, attaching your mouth to his left testicle. Occasionally looking up to him, which you’ll find his head tilted back, and his fingers digging into the sheets. You even lick a little beneath his balls, just for the thrill.

Though the wait became too long, and you ached to have him inside you. Crawling up to him, planting a kiss on his lips, then, you lined his dick up to you, slowly sinking onto him until you took every inch.

You began to bounce up and down on his cock, grinding against him every once in a while just to feel him against your clit. He’d end up taking your hips in his hands, steadying you, and then rocking up into you, making you squeal with each thrust he makes.

“You feel so fucking good,” He says through moans. Various praises left his mouth as you rode him. Praising you for being so good for him, and how your cunt felt so nice and warm wrapped around his cock. How he wants to cum inside of you and fill you up, make you have his children. He is the God of Fertility so you knew that when he does cum in you, you’ll more than likely become pregnant.

The two of you went at it for what seemed like hours. You came back to back in various positions; of course, Thor made sure that you came before he did.  

And when he did, he couldn’t help but cum inside of you, his hands gripped tightly at your thighs. His moans heard as deep roars coming from his throat as he spills his load into you. Your legs wobbly and numb, and you’re holding onto him for dear life as if he’d ever let you fall. Still, he continues to rock you onto his cock, more cum spilling from the tip of his dick. It was enough to make you orgasm again, all from the overbearing feeling. You gripped at his neck and pulled at his hair as your bodies rocked together to fuck off your high.

He let you down, your legs shaking as your feet plant down on the floor. He picked you up again, this time bridal style, and carried you into another room. This one, a bathroom. More candles and flowers laced it in decor.

“For you, my Queen,” A bath, already hot and filled with rose petals awaited you.

“Thank you, my King,” You shared a long and loving kiss before settling into the bath, which, he bathed you. Talking to you all night long into the well hours of the morning about God knows what.

You remembered that first night as if it was only yesterday. It was miraculous how you could have a lifelong bond with this man that you barely knew before your wedding day. Thor is noble, a gentleman, and always treated you how you deserved. He frequently put you before a lot of things, even if you told him not to. He thought of you constantly and explained his love for you daily.  

Thor was the type of lover that everyone wished they had. Though, it was much deeper than that; a soul connection. He cherished you at his lows and his highs and would continue to love you with his last, dying breath.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The hand that feeds

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, oral, intercourse).

This is dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader has served the royal family for years, but her newest master may be too demanding.

Note: Hey yo! If you wanna leave some feedback, a like, or even reblog, that would be chill. I just decided on a little Loki love today so I hope y'all enjoy!

No one thought the kingdom would stay the same in the wake of Odin’s death. No longer shrouded by the old king’s obstinacy or iron grip. But none had expected an absentee heir. The former prince had not been seen since his coronation. His golden hair topped with a crown even brighter.

It was rumoured he had gone to Midgard to win over the woman he loved. Others suggested he was off getting into his usual trouble. Many expected more of him now that he had inherited the throne, though not so many were truly surprised. Asgard’s ruling family had never been known for their integrity.

The only who seemed to benefit from his absence was the one who often suffered in his presence. Loki was left at the head of the council to sort out the daily duties and attend to whatever trouble rose in the realm. While his brother was away, he could play out his dreams of being king. Though, should Thor be away long enough, he might just stop playing at it.

Even now, Loki sat in front of the throne, forbidden by right to perch upon it. He was a placeholder, nothing more. You watched from your vigil at his shoulder. You had not stood there since the old king ruled. Several months since then. It felt like a lifetime.

Odin’s death marked the end of your tenure. First, you’d attended his wife but upon her demise, he kept you on. A reminder of his beloved. A loyal servant who nearly died in her defence gifted with preference for years of service. And it had all so easily dissolved upon the new king’s ascent. 

Until that day. 

As you prepared to tend to your new duties in the kitchen, Helga stopped you and took the kettle from your hands. Her square jaw was a sharp as ever as she gave her orders. She handed off the brass vessel to another and stared you down.

“Seems you have been called back to your former bearing,” She said. “The prince has need of a cup bearer this morning as he hears the people’s grievances. And judging by the crowd, he will be in sore need of wine.”

You set the large goblet and pitcher on a tray and set off for your duty. You did not miss it. Standing endlessly as you listened to the complaints of farmers and lords alike. The king’s, or in this case, the prince’s diplomatic, at times terse, response. 

Loki signalled you with two fingers when he was in need of a sip, more often a gulp. He didn’t look at you as you offered the cup or as he placed it back on your tray. Several times you had to angle yourself to catch the goblet. As the morning turned to afternoon, your feet ached. You’d quickly forgotten the toll of the task. Your hips, your knees, your arms from balancing the tray. You hid it all behind a servant’s mask.

At last, the day’s session came to an end. Loki stood and the servants and audience bowed as he did. Even as you dipped your head, you didn’t miss the glimmer of satisfaction in his emerald eyes. And he didn’t miss your glance. He squinted as he caught your errant gaze. You lowered your lashes and righted yourself.

He neared, his cape brushed along the toes of your slippers as he passed. “With me,” He said under his breath, “I should like some fresh wine.”

“Your highness,” You followed him through the door behind the throne.

“I’ll be in my solar.” He said curtly. “Bring enough for Lord Bjarke, as well.”

“Yes, your highness.” You replied.

He turned down the hall and left you to scurry away. His cloak flapped noisily around his long strides and seemed to echo around you as you turned the corner. You quickly rinsed his goblet and grabbed another. You went to the cellar and found a bottle of the Northern red. It was his favourite, you recalled from the nights he attended supper with Odin.

You were quick to arrive at his solar. You knocked and he called from within. You entered with the customary bow and he gestured to his desk. Lord Bjarke scratched his thick black beard as you set down the tray and poured their drinks. He seized his almost at once as Loki barely noticed your presence. You backed away courteously and neared the door.

“Stay,” He didn’t look at you, merely pointed to the corner to the right of him. “We may need more wine.”

“Oh we may,” Lord Bjarke guffawed as droplets glistened in his grey-streaked beard. “Maybe some ale.”

“Well, let’s attend to important matters before you get too deep in your cups,” Loki warned as he spread out a parchment and leaned over it. “Despite your rank, my lord, you cannot so openly infringe upon the royal forest.”

“Infringe, my prince, I was granted land for my service to your father.” Bjarke argued.

“You were but I have that grant right here,” Loki took another paper, “It does not include my family’s hunting grounds.”

He slid the deed across to Bjarke and reached for his goblet. He sniffed before he sipped. A slight curve of his lips as he set the cup aside. For a moment, his eyes strayed in your direction but he quickly corrected himself.

“No animals venture along that border. They are too meek for that.” Bjarke scoffed. “I see little issue in me expanding my crops.”

“I do. I’m sure my brother would too. And despite my father’s favour for you, if he were still alive, he’d very much have an issue with this.” Loki hissed. “And I suspect you know that, hence why you’ve waited until his death to trespass.”

“Trespass? No...I--” Bjarke stuttered.

“Yes,” Loki insisted. “So, I will give you two options, and let me warn you, my lord, I am not in the habit of lenience but I should allow you this one oversight. So, you can cease your trespass on royal land and we can drop the matter altogether or you can carry on and pay the crown eighty percent of your harvest for use of our land.” Loki smirked. “Oh, and of course a fine for the crime itself.”

“I--I think you forget yourself, my prince, you might be head of council but it does not make you king. As I recall, your brother wears the crown.” Bjarke snarled.

“And he has left his duty to me. I am his voice now and my will is his. So, you make your choice. Be gracious for the wealth you’ve already acquired, or insist on your greed and lose it. If it were a rainy day, I should make the choice for you.”

Bjarke grumbled and drained his cup. “I shall relent, my prince.” He stood and slammed down the goblet.

“Let’s not forget ourselves, my lord, I could have made this same offer in front of the people. Could’ve declared your crimes to the kingdom itself. Though, it wouldn’t have been much of an offer then.” Loki warned.

“Yes, your highness,” Bjarke swallowed his anger and bowed. You watched the man, named for the bear he resembled, stomp out of the chamber. His heavy boots could be heard as they faded on the other side of the door.

You stared at the carved wood. Parchment rustled along the desk as Loki resumed his work. His ring softly clinked against the goblet and you looked over as he leaned back in his chair. He stretched his legs out beneath the desk and hooked one over the other as he reclined lazily.

“You’re a clever one.” He mused as he glanced over at you.

“Your highness?” You wondered.

“The wine. Northern. You remember.” He grinned. “My own father never recalled, but you do.”

“With respect, your highness, your mother always made certain to have it stocked for you.” You replied. 

He nodded and took another drink. “My mother…” He repeated. “I heard a tale about you.”

“A tale?” You raised a brow.

“This kingdom is full of rumours, it is hard to know which to believe.” He finished the cup and set it down. He motioned for you to refill it. As you stepped forward, he watched you. “It is said you tried to save my mother.”

“I failed, your highness.” You set down the pitcher. “She was much braver than me.”

“My father liked you, too,” He carried on. “I recall that. Very fond of you, indeed.”

You tilted your head but said nothing.

“But my brother sent you back to the kitchens.” He shook his head. “Very unfortunate.”

“I am a servant. I go where I am bid.” You replied evenly.

“Loyal to a fault,” He remarked. “You are better than the kitchens.” He took another sip and swirled the wine in the cup, watching the small tidal he created within. “I am in need of a chambermaid.” 

He held your eyes as he drank. You stood in patient silence. A servant’s duty.

“So, you go where you are bid. I bid you in my chamber.” His eyes flared and he chuckled. “Pardon my poor wording.”

“Your highness.” You bowed and he focused on you. Trying to see past your facade.

“Well then, best be off to your new duties.” He said. “You will attend my supper as well. Tonight is a feast and I expect more of this.” He doffed his cup. 

With your dismissal, you left and hurried down the corridors. Helga would be unhappy with your re-assignment but you wouldn’t have to deal with her much.

-

You fell into your duties easily. They were familiar; second-nature. The only difference was Loki. He wasn’t much in his chambers; mostly his solar or the great hall. Yet, you were almost always in his presence. He kept you close, to refill his goblet or fetch him some other fancy.

You tidied his chambers, attended his plate, and saw to the order of his solar. Thor remained gone and Loki remained as he was. Overworked and overjoyed. He basked in his temporary power, at times, you thought, a bit too much. At other times, you saw his mother in him. He was pensive, often quiet, but his menace set him apart.

You could see it in his eyes. He read other people; measured them and how he could use them. You could tell he was still trying to do so with you. You caught him staring at you at times. Others, he’d speak to you as he had that first day. Never happy with your answers, always pushing for more. It was harmless; it was Loki. You’d seen him do the same to his own blood. His little games.

The day had been tense. Loki met with Odin’s old master of war, Lord Eadric. The grizzled veteran was unhappy with the new king’s absence. Unhappy with the prince’s work. He shared Odin’s distrust for the dark-haired son. Their meeting turned to raised voices and spilled wine.

You stood in the corner as Eadric stormed from the room. The door shook in its frame. The old man was stronger than he looked. Loki gripped the edge of his desk as he sat. Wine dripped down the wood and his angry breaths filled the silence. 

You righted the pitcher that had been overturned and took the cloth from your apron pocket. You wiped the desk and bent to clean the floor. You mopped up the mess and sensed his gaze on you. You looked up as Loki watched you. His features had softened and he no longer looked so angry. You turned back to your work and stood as you finished up.

“Thank you,” He said quietly as he rubbed his forehead. “I think I will take my supper alone. In my chamber.”

“Your highness.” It was an order. Most of his words were. 

You bowed and left him, the wet cloth in hand. The door closed behind you and was followed by the sound of metal on stone. He had thrown the goblet. You retreated quickly away from his solar and sought out the kitchens. You were not eager to return to the agitated prince.

You tossed the cloth in the hamper meant for dish towels and grabbed a tray from the stack. You loaded up a platter and placed a lid over it. You stopped by the cellars for a bottle of Northern red and carried on to the prince’s chambers. He often ate in his solar or at the feast table with the court. It was best he keep to himself after such a display.

You set down the tray as you entered and lit the lanterns one at a time. His receiving chamber was large but cozy. A black bear skin before the hearth, a velvet chaise atop it. You carried the tray to the round table and set the wine beside it. You knelt to stoke the fireplace before you tended to the chamber.

It was already tidy. Your work was truly minimal. Loki didn’t leave much of a mess. You knew, however, if you left, he would be unhappy. You had done so one night on the presumption that your duties were finished and he had reprimanded you for it the next day. And the day after. He made sure you learned your lessons well.

You waited by the wall. You stood patiently as they time passed slowly and cursed your fortune. Among servants, your position was an envied one but it was just as tedious as any other. 

When the door opened, you were ready to close your eyes and attempt to doze upright. Loki swept in and you greeted him with a bow.

“Wine,” He demanded as he pulled his chair out and sat heavily.

You neared the table and poured the wine steadily. You corked the bottle and set it back down. He took it swiftly and drank deeply. It was half-empty when he drew it away from his lips. You remained close, ready for his next order. 

He licked his lips and looked up at you. His green as twinkled as if he only just recalled your presence. He considered you as his brows twitched.

“Sit,” He waved to the chair in front of you. You looked down at it but didn’t move. He waited and repeated himself tersely. You pulled the chair out and sat lightly. His mother had let you sit with her but never Odin, or any other. He put the cup down and slid it over to you. “Have a drink.”

“Your highness,” You protested. “It is against palace rules for servants to indulge.”

“I said drink,” He commanded. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your marm.”

You blinked and grabbed the goblet by the stem. You looked into the dark depths of the wine. You sipped from the golden rim daintily and placed it back on the table. He scoffed and shook his head.

“Finish it,” He said. 

You resisted a frown and took the cup once more. You brought it to your lips and he pushed the bottom of it up as you drank. You drained it and coughed as he finally let you pull it away. He took the goblet as you wiped your mouth with your sleeve and he chuckled.

“Are you hungry?” He asked as he removed the lid from the platter. 

“No.” You answered, your throat still seared from the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Very well,” He accepted and speared a carrot with his fork. “Heimdall says Thor should return shortly. Who knows how long he’ll remain though.”

You nodded and kept quiet. He looked up from his plate and watched you as he chewed. He swallowed and smirked.

“Don’t you ever get bored of it? Watching others eat and drink and whine? Cleaning up after them?” He asked.

“That’s my duty, your highness.” You replied flatly. “As you have yours.”

He nodded and took another bite. He ate as you saw the thoughts bounce across his face. His jaw tensed and the vein stuck out on his forehead. He finished and replaced the lid on the platter. He refilled his own cup and drank from it deeply.

“You may clean this up,” He motioned to the dishes. “And fetch another bottle and a cup for yourself.”

You rose without argument. He wasn’t of the mood for it, not that he ever was. You gathered the platter and cutlery on the tray and swept from the room. You grabbed a second bottle of red and another goblet and headed back. You dreaded your return. 

When you entered, Loki was stood by the hearth. His hand was on the mantle as he stared into the flames. You set down your wares and waited for him to speak. He barely seemed to notice your presence. His fingers tapped on the stone ledge and he turned suddenly.

“Remove my cloak for me.” He commanded.

You neared and he stood still for you. You unclasped the green cape from each shoulder as he watched your hands. You draped it over your arm and left him to hang it on its hook along the wall. You heard the chair scrape on the floor as he sat again and you turned back.

“Another drink,” He insisted.

You went to the table and poured him a cup. He pushed the other up for you to fill. He took his goblet and pointed to the other chair. You sat and he handed you the second cup. He clinked his against yours and took a gulp. You mimicked him, the wine bitter on your tongue.

“I’d think servants would be more in need of a drink than nobles,” He commented. “I don’t know how you bear us.”

“Barely,” You returned without thinking. You clasped your lips shut and set down your cup.

He chuckled and drank some more. “You are...amusing, dear.” He emptied his goblet and placed it on the table. “I see why my mother liked you.”

He stood and stretched his arms as he stepped away. He yawned and paced the perimeter of the room. You made to rise and he stopped you with a raised hand.

“Ah. Finish your wine.” He ordered. “Then you may assist me in retiring for the night.”

You looked over at him as he continued to stride along the room. He watched you and smirked. He nodded for you drink and you lifted the cup. You took large gulps, each swallow easier than the last. You held in a belch and set aside the goblet. Your cheeks were warm and your head felt fuzzy.

Loki came up just behind you and leaned over you to check your cup. He touched your shoulder and backed away. “Very well, then. I should like a bath drawn.”

“Your highness,” You stood a bit too quick and grabbed the table. 

You righted yourself and turned to pass him as he stood by the door to the bedroom. You swept into the bath chamber and worked the pump until it began to spew hot water. You stepped back and turned as Loki entered behind you. His eyes followed your movement and he began to undo the clasps along the chest of his jacket.

“Towel,” He said. “You shall attend to my bath this evening.”

You bowed your head, the words caught in your throat. You went to the bedchamber and grabbed a towel from the closet. You returned to the bath chamber and blanched. You almost stumbled as Loki’s pale ass greeted you. He stood in the large round tub, naked, and lowered himself with a groan against the side of the basin.

You hung the towel on the rod and kept your eyes on the floor as you turned. You folded your hands in front of you and listened to the water splash down. You could hear him moving around and you bit down on your tongue. A female servant attending a male noble in his bath was unseemly. Helga would say it was forbidden.

“You may turn the water off.” Loki declared.

You refused to look at him as you neared the large tub; big enough for six of him. You bent and twisted the faucet and straightened up. The steam dampened the front of your apron and you smoothed it out as you resumed your stance. You blinked as you tried to clear the fog from your head.

You could feel his eyes on you. The way he always watched you. You could not tell if it was spite or intrigue. Likely the former. You raised your eyes to his and he stared back. His arms were stretched over the rim of the basin as the steam rose up around him. 

“I hear the servants bathe in the river. Is that true?” He asked.

“We do,” You assured him. 

“Hmmm, I always thought to sneak down and see for myself…” He grinned. “Perhaps you’d be there?”

The heat spread from your cheeks and down your neck. Your chest filled with fire as you held his gaze; speechless. He chuckled to himself and it hung in the air. His eyes fell from yours.

“Join me.” He said.

“Your highness?” You glanced at the door.

“Get that grimy apron off and join me,” He repeated. 

Your mouth fell open. You clutched your hands together and gaped at him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

“I won’t tell you a third time.” He warned. 

It took a moment to find your strength. You pondered the door again. If you ran, would he come after you? Even if he didn’t, you were certain he’d have you not only out of his service, but out of the palace. You swallowed and reached back to untie your apron. Your fingers were clumsy as they tugged on the knots.

You lifted the apron over your head and sling it over the counter. You knelt to remove your sandals and kept your eyes on the tile. You unbuckled your belt and your plain gown fell loose. You placed the braided leather on your apron and slowly lifted the fabric along your legs. 

The more skin you bared, the more you trembled. When you bathed in the river, there were dozens around. But there had never been any princes. As you freed yourself from the gown, you looked up to find Loki’s eyes set on you. Your thigh-length shift did little to conceal your curves. You folded the dress up with the rest of your clothes.

“Go on,” He breathed.

You tensed and grabbed the hem of your shift. His gaze didn’t waver as you pulled it up and you braced yourself as you bared yourself to him entirely. You tossed the shift a top your dress and neared the tub.

You lifted your leg over the large circular basin and stepped inside. You tried not to look at Loki as you lowered yourself against the stone. You hugged your knees to your chest and hugged them shyly. The water shifted as he moved and you tried not to flinch.

He came up beside you, his arm behind you as his hand settled on your wrist. He gripped it firmly but did not pull. He leaned into you and his hot breath added to the steam. 

“Now, now, I know you’re not daft.” He purred and slowly moved your hand. Your legs fell and left you prone.

You bit your lip as he guided your hand further down. He pressed your palm to his cock and you winced. He pushed your fingers closed around him and you turned your face away from him. 

“Don’t let go.” He demanded. He removed his hand and grabbed your chin. He made you look at him as you clung to his cock. “Move your hand, dear. Up….” You slowly glided your hand along his length and he exhaled deeply, “Down...again. Oh yes.”

You kept the motion as he hugged you closer. His hand slipped from your chin and crawled along your throat. He cupped you breast and then the other. He played with them, fondled them, and tweaked your nipples before he bent to take one in his mouth. 

You pushed yourself against the marble desperately and let go of him. He growled against your flesh and grabbed your hand. He replaced it on his cock and nipped you. You whimpered and stroked him again. 

His hand went to your thighs and kneaded the flesh. His fingers dipped between them and you wriggled against him. He raised his head with a sneer. He leaned close and spoke in your ear. “Be a good servant and tend to your prince.” It was a threat. Serve your prince or serve no other. 

“Your highness,” Your voice was thin; scared.

He dragged his fingers along your folds and around your clit. He his lips to your temple as he breathed into your hair. He caressed you as your hand continued to play with him. His touch grew firmer, quicker, and stoked a new heat. You shuddered and closed your eyes. A dark laugh escaped his lips as he felt your body surrender.

His fingers slipped down and he pressed his palm to your clit. His fingers circled your entrance and slowly dipped inside. You gasp as he pushed deeper, curving to find your special place. You quivered as he moved his hand slowly. The friction along your bud added to the sensation.

You could barely keep your own hand moving as he played with you. He pulled back and his other hand stretched along your neck. He worked his fingers harder, faster, and the water rippled around you. Your breath hitched and you struggled to catch it as your core began to bloom. 

It swelled and swelled until you came suddenly, a pathetic mewl escaped your lips. In your rapture, your hand had still but gripped Loki tightly. He rocked his hips and pulled his fingers out. He brushed your hand away from his cock and stood. 

He moved in front of you and grabbed the back of your head. He forced you onto your knees and dragged you closer. You brought your hands up to push against his thighs but he was much too strong. Your arms shook as you struggled with him. Half-drunk and still awash in the afterglow. You were weak, senseless.

“Open up, dear,” He grabbed your chin with his other hand. “Don’t you know the punishment for a disobedient servant?”

Your eyes rounded. The thought of the leather strap flashed through your mind. You opened your mouth and he pushed inside. Your hands slipped down as he sank to the back of your throat. He went deeper until you gagged, and only allowed you a moment to steady yourself. 

He pulled you back and thrust back in just as quickly. He held you in place as he fucked your face and you splashed helplessly in the water. His grunts mixed with your gags and the stir of the water around you. He plunged down your throat and stopped. He shuddered and removed himself in a single motion.

He let go and you fell back, barely keeping your head from hitting the marble. You gasped and choked as you reached around you blindly and turned to crawl out of the tub. He caught your hips as you were halfway out. He pushed you against the marble so that you were bent over the edge and slapped your ass. You yelped and he did it again.

“Not so fast,” He taunted as his nails dug into your hip and his other pinched your ass. “My ever loyal servant, you know better than to leave before you are dismissed.”

His cock poked your ass and he guided it down. You squirmed and he held you against the tub as he rubbed along your entrance. You reached out for the floor, so far away. There was nothing else to latch onto. He pushed himself along your folds and spread your juices along the tip of his cock.

He aligned himself and delved into you. You swung out behind you and tried to push him away. He ignored your fingertips as they poked his hip. He bottomed out and you exclaimed. He was too much. Too big. It hurt and yet as he pulled back, your walls quaked. Delighted by the feel of him inside you.

He grabbed your arms as you struggled and pulled you back by your elbows. With your hips still against the basin, he thrust into you. Your back arched painfully as he restrained you and his wet flesh clapped against yours. You whined and whimpered with each plunge. The pain mingled with pleasure as your head spun in shock and confusion.

“Please,” You begged. “Please…”

“It is forbidden for a servant to lay with a noble.” He snarled as he fucked you harder and harder. His fingers grew tighter around your arms. “But, should anyone…find out…” He spoke between grunts, “Who do you think will suffer?” He growled and let go of your arms. 

You held yourself up against the tub and he rutted into you. His hand snaked around to play with your tit as his other hand squeezed your ass. 

“Not me. Fuck.” He panted as sped up. You hung your head and tried to fight the rapture as it rose within you. “Gods, you’re tight.”

You shook as you came. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. But he knew. He could see the ripple along your spine and the tremble in your thighs. He slammed into you harder and moved his hands to your hips. He clung to you as his thrusts turned spasmodic and his voice rose in a snarl.

He pulled out of you and spilled his seed down your thigh. He rubbed his cock along your skin to spread his cum and smacked your ass again. He backed away and your arms collapsed. You slid down into the water; breathless against the marble as you looked up at him in a haze.

“It won’t be so bad, my pet,” He bent and caressed your cheek, “A favoured servant earns certain favours.”

[the-firebird69]

In other news, we have several complaints about John Remelard and his activities in the neighborhood. And they're sending them to their people, but we have them too. he's loud, and he's being boisterous and rude. Pretty soon he'll run around the neighborhood.

--- There are some things that we need to discuss We're going to get to them at the. time.

-- Along with the stashes and caches the nuclear bunkers. and cities John John. Rimallard had areas within regular cities. He still does their steadily not going to the other cities. They're blockaded. but he is being attacked by most other groups. And it is. a horrible day for him. He is in cities like Miami. and they are going in bunches to pull him out. and get him out. And he is losing.. We suspect this population is going. to go down another two. percent in the next two weeks. And that's mainly because those are the people in the separatist cities. and the fleets in the bunkers. And he's going to lose all of that. And once he loses those the others will become aggravated and agitated and they will reduce while that's going on actually. And they will be at 2.5% and then during the process of the city's disapp the city's disappearing and bunkers and ships that will turn into about 1.8%. We estimate and because of that process they will find out that he is controlling the money centers and those money centers he's going to lose control over at that time they will start going after him again. in earnest then they'll do it the whole time when he's down to about 1.5 percent they will. see and hear him as loud as loud as hell and he is a rancid person in very in very mean and unscrupulous and it will take all that in order to get our son stuff and that's why we're doing it And the moron is just a little baby and defiant until he's dead. And he has killed all his people.

Thor Freya

Olympus

and yes it is way before the election. and a hard sell ok he is in power still cuz. and so on. he hs ships up and oops those are yours the empire says and ok that will occur. and trump will not win the electin by any normal method it is only september and he wil be out. by the twenty second he will be weak. the two percent mostly out. and at one point eight. and will get hit in the money centers. and reduce gretly to november a whole month away. the island is under siege and new zealand is flaling too was at four point five ercent last week will be at two percent in two weeks. and stuck there. and held there by the psueod empire.

Thor Freya

[sunmoonandeddie]

(FAKE) BOYFRIEND DOES MY MAKEUP CHALLENGE BECAUSE I GOT DUMPED

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 4,029

summary: If there’s one thing you hate more than anything, it’s disappointing your viewers.  But it’s looking like you might have to, since after your breakup with fellow YouTuber Thor Odinson, you have no one to film a highly requested Boyfriend Does My Makeup Challenge video.  That is, until your best friend, Natasha, steps in.

warnings: swearing

masterlist

a/n: Let me know what you think!

“Nat, what the fuck am I going to do?”  You asked with a groan, flopping back onto your bed.  Your typically immaculate bedroom was in a state of disarray. Clothing was littered all over the floor, your bed hadn’t been made in days.  Hell, you couldn’t remember when you last showered, let alone cleaned your room.

“First things first, you’re going to shower,” the redhead said, her nose scrunching up as she sat behind you on the bed.  “Because—and I say this with so much in my heart—you reek.”

You huffed, glaring up at her.  “I’ve been having a rough time.”

“I know,” she said, though that didn’t stop her from pulling you off the bed and pushing you towards the bathroom.  She even went as far as starting the water for you and setting two towels on the toilet for you to grab.  “I thought that it was mutual,” she said, having to almost shout over the roar of the water as she pulled herself up to sit on the sink counter.

You frowned at the wall as you lathered the shampoo into your hair.  “It… was.  But I don’t know…,” you said, “We were together for almost two years.  I thought…  I thought he was the love of my life.  I guess it just hurts to be wrong.”

And that’s truly what the root of it was.  You and Thor had been together for a little over a year and a half and it had easily been the best relationship of your life.

But that was clearly over.

You leaned your forehead against the wall, letting the hot water just run over you.  “It probably says something that I’m mostly upset about not being able to give my viewers that Boyfriend Does My Makeup video, huh?”

Natasha barked out a laugh, a smile tugging at her lips.  She knew you’d be okay after she got you out of your filth. Cleaning your room could come later. First thing after your shower was to get you out of the house.  “At least it was mutual and he didn’t, like, cheat on you or anything.”

You scrubbed at your skin with a loofah, letting your conditioner sit in your hair.  “We both know that Thor would never cheat on anyone.  He can’t keep a secret to save his life, and he’d feel too bad.”

“You’ve got a point,” she said, picking up her phone as it dinged with a notification.  “Hey, is it okay if we stop by Sam’s before going grocery shopping?”

“I don’t care,” you said, finishing washing up.  You hadn’t been to her boyfriend’s house, but you’d known him since the two of them got together two years before.  Every time you’d seen him, it was usually at Natasha’s house.  “I thought he filmed on Wednesdays?”

“He does, but he left his favorite pair of tennis shoes at my place.”

Fitness gurus and their fucking tennis shoes.

You finally got out of the shower and brushed your teeth, pulling on fresh clothes for the first time in days.  And yeah, it was a hoodie and a pair of leggings, but it still counted.

“No makeup?” Nat asked quietly, and you bit your lip, frowning. The thought of stepping into your filming room was too much at the moment, and that’s where you kept all your makeup.

Part of being a beauty guru and all.

Her hand went to your cheek, pinching it softly before heading for the front door.  “Well, you know you look stunning no matter what.”

You let out a weak laugh.  “Even when I’m crying?”

“Even when you’re crying.”

Your phone went off when you were almost to Sam’s, and you had to restrain yourself from throwing it out the window.

“Do you still have notifications on for him?” Natasha asked, looking at you with huge green eyes from the driver’s side.

“Um…  No?” You hid your phone screen from her the best you could.

She reached over, grasping at it even though she was the one driving.  “Hand me your phone.”

“What?!  Nat, you’re driving!”

“Give me the phone!”

“No!”  You were seriously considering rolling down the window when she snatched it from your hands.

She held onto it until she pulled into Sam’s driveway, reading, “@thorodinson tweeted: ‘New Video Posted: Life Update.’”  She turned to you, saying, “Oh, come on.  That doesn’t mean it’s about—”

You rolled your eyes, hitting the video and opening it.  Your ex’s god-like face popped up on the screen, and he looked a little worse for wear.

“Hello, uh, everyone,” Thor said, rubbing his hands on his jeans.  “So, uh…  If you haven’t watched my last video, my girlfriend and I decided to end things.  I know this’ll come as a shock to everyone—”

Natasha shut off the video, grumbling as she grabbed Sam’s tennis shoes from the backseat, “Okay, okay.  But you two are the ones who decided to upload a breakup video together, à la Liza and David.”

“It’s not like we hate each other,” you said as the two of you finally got out of the car.  You stared up at the house, eyes widening as you shoved your hands in the pocket of your hoodie.  It was easily one of the biggest houses you’d ever seen.  “We were good friends before we started dating, and even if it takes us a while, we’ll get back to that eventually.  At least, I hope so.”

“That’s a tall order, Bambi.”

“Well, good thing he’s six foot four or whatever.”

She gave you the look that you called the Romanoff Stare, before slipping her key into the front door.  “Sam? Baby?  I’m here!” She called out, leading you inside.

“Sometimes I forget how much money Sam has,” you said as you looked around the front foyer.  It was absolutely stunning, with gorgeous marble flooring and dark mahogany furniture. There was a grand staircase leading from the center of the room up to the second floor.

“It’s not just him,” she reminded you, leading you further inside.  “His friends Steve and Bucky live with him, too.”

“Yeah, the…  the Fitness Bros, right?”  To be completely honest, you hadn’t ever seen any of the groups’ videos.  It wasn’t exactly your thing, though you had seen Sam’s vlogs when Natasha was in them.

She bit her lip as she went quiet, clearly listening for where the residents of the house were.  After a long moment, a grin spread over her lips.  “Technically, they’re ShieldFitness, but they have that rivalry going on with the Science Bros, so yeah.  The Fitness Bros.  Steve and Bucky are chill.  You’d like them.”  She waved you along, leading you downstairs.  As the door opened, you could hear music blasting and the sound of weights being lifted and dropped and lifted again.  “Boys! I’m here!”

When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you froze.

The entire basement had been converted into a state-of-the-art gym.

“Holy shit,” you said, taking it all in.  You hadn’t been to a gym in years, not since…  Well.

“Hey, baby!”

You looked up just in time to see an extremely sweaty Sam Wilson bound over to Natasha and pull her into a passionate kiss.  “Hey, Sam.  Nice to see you, too.”

The man in question smirked as he pulled away from the kiss.  “Hey, Bambi.”  His face fell as he saw the state you were in.  “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” you said with a shrug, pulling out your phone.  You could at least pretend to be okay if you kept your nose on your screen.

Natasha shook her head at Sam, mouthing, “She’s not.”

The two other men in the gym hadn’t yet noticed that they had visitors. That, or they were just deciding to ignore the two of you.  You were okay with either option, if you were being honest.  You hated meeting new people when you didn’t have makeup on, as horrible and insecure as it sounded.  It was just… makeup was your thing.  You didn’t leave the house without it ninety percent of the time.

You felt your heart sink as you saw the texts your manager had sent you.

Maria Hill: You need to find a video to replace the Boyfriend Does My Makeup one ASAP.

Maria Hill: People are extremely upset about you and Odinson breaking up.

Maria Hill: And I know that you’re upset, and this is going to sound like it’s in poor taste, but your breakup won’t keep people entertained for long.  #thambibreakup already stopped trending a few days ago.

“Bambi?  You good?”

Rubbing your eyes, you passed the phone to Natasha without another word. Your head was pounding from the effort it took not to cry.

She hummed as she stared down at the phone, though she looked up in surprise as she heard more weights crashing to the ground.

Across the gym, a blond that you vaguely remembered from some of Sam’s vlogs—Steve?—was doing deadlifts.  He wiped his brow as he finished his last rep, smiling bashfully down at the ground as the brunet—Bucky, if your memory was right—rushed over.

“You’re steadily dead lifting three hundred pounds, man,” he said, fist bumping the other.

And it was like a light bulb went off in Natasha’s head.  “Steve!  Get over here!”

Sam eyed his girlfriend suspiciously.  “What are you up to?”

“I’m fixing Bambi’s problem, and getting Steve out of the house and the gym,” she said under her breath, before turning to where the man was jogging towards the three of you, the brunet following close behind.

“Hey, Nat, what’s up?” He asked, grabbing his water bottle and chugging down half of it.

You tucked your phone into your hoodie pocket, figuring it’d be rude to be on it when you were getting introduced to new people.

“Steve, this is my best friend, Bambi,” she said, pushing you towards him. “Bambi, this is Steve.”

“Hi.  Nice to meet you,” you said, smiling sheepishly as you held your hand out for him to shake. Despite the way you presented on your YouTube channel, you were actually rather shy.  Meeting new people was nerve wracking and exhausting, to say the least.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, shaking your hand firmly.  It surprised you a little when he clasped his free hand over it, squeezing softly as his startling blue eyes met yours.

Your cheeks went red as he realized he’d been shaking your hand for a few moments longer than what was probably considered normal, and he dropped it quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And I’m Bucky,” the brunet said, inserting himself into the conversation. He was grinning, knowing that he had interrupted what one might consider a moment.

“Hi, Bucky, I’m Bambi,” you said with a giggle, your cheeks going red as he shot you a playful wink.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his antics before turning back to the blond. “So, Steve, how would you feel about doing Bambi’s makeup?”

“What?!”  You whirled on Natasha, eyes widening.

His brows furrowed as his eyes darted back and forth between the two of you. “I mean…  I’m not opposed.  What for?”

“Bambi was going to film a Boyfriend Does My Makeup video with Thor Odinson before they broke up last week, and she’s worried about disappointing her viewers while her manager is on her ass about putting out more content.”

“Look, it’s ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head rapidly.  “You don’t have—”

“I’d love to.”

“—to do it just because—”  You broke off, blinking at him slowly.  “Wait… What?”

Steve shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.  “I’d love to be in your video.  I don’t know anything about makeup, but I’ll do my best.”

You couldn’t help but grin.  “It kind of makes it better if you don’t know anything.”  For just a second, you forgot about all the shit surrounding your breakup as you stared into his eyes.

“Name a time and a place, sugar.”

The next morning, you rushed around your house, desperately trying to make sure there was no sign of your post-breakup-sadness left.  You’d spent the night before cleaning your room and scrubbing down the kitchen.  There’d been dishes piled up from the past week, covered in whatever you’d managed to make in your stupor after getting through the first few days with zero appetite.

You had just finished setting up your filming room when you heard the knock on your front door.  “Coming!” You shouted, bounding down the stairs.  Your socked feet slid against the hardwood floor, and you took a deep breath before throwing open the door, revealing Steve.  “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” he said, before holding up a takeout bag.  “I got us lunch.  Natasha mentioned that you were dying to try that new sushi place on forty-second, so I figured…”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, shock written all over your face. He was already filming a video for your channel as a favor.  Not to mention, on such short notice.  Hell, you’d never done a collaboration without more than three days’ notice, let alone less than twenty-four hours.

He stepped inside as you led him through, up to the makeup room.

“We can eat while we do the video,” you said, flicking on the light for your filming room.  It was a little dimmer than most normal ceiling lights, but you kept it that way since you just used a ring light for your videos anyway.  “This is where the magic happens.”

“This is… amazing,” he said with a bit of a laugh as he took in your whole set up.  “This is way nicer than the stuff we use on our channels.”

You shrugged, your cheeks going a little red as you sat down on the bench in front of your vanity.  “Yeah, but I’m sure your equipment can handle a lot more roughhousing, since it’s used in a gym and everything.”

Steve hummed in response, the trance not breaking for another few seconds.

When he finally took his seat next to you, you let out a long huff of air.  “Do we just want to wing it?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Whatever you want, sugar,” he said, his warm smile reassuring you.

After a final nod for confirmation, you grabbed the little remote for your camera and hit the record button.  After a second, the little red light appeared and you grinned, immediately jumping into your YouTuber personality.  “Hello, gorgeous, and welcome to my channel!”  You knew that your subscribers would be able to tell that you were a little bit off, but then again, practically the entire YouTube community knew about the breakup by now.  “So, as you can probably tell by the title of this video, we’re going to be doing the Boyfriend Does My Makeup Challenge.  But…” You trailed off, motioning to Steve. “This isn’t the usual tall, blond, hunk of a man you’re used to seeing.  This is Steve Rogers, A.K.A. one-third of the channel ShieldFitness.”

“Hello!” He said, his blue eyes twinkling.  He was kind of mesmerized by just how many products were in front of him, and he could see several makeup towers against the wall, out of view, that definitely held much, much more.

“Steve has so graciously agreed to do this video after Natasha guilt tripped him, because I got dumped,” you said, grinning as Steve barked out a laugh. He clearly hadn’t been expecting how blunt you were going to be with the situation.  Your gaze softened a little as you took in the sight of him laughing, his hand clapping over his chest as his nose scrunched up.

He was… quite beautiful.

“So, what do you say we jump right in?”

Steve nodded, letting out one last, breathless chuckle as he tried to regain his composure.  “Alright, uh… I have no idea what I’m doing, so we’ll see how this goes.”  He stared at the products on your desk for what felt like forever.

“I haven’t put on any products at all.  This is my face fresh from the shower.”  You suddenly remembered that he had picked you up lunch, and you grabbed the bag.  “While you do that, I’m going to unpack some of this food.”  While he tried to decide where to start, you continued to talk to the camera, setting take out containers no the vanity, “Can we just talk about how amazing this man is?  He almost gets blackmailed into doing this video, and he still brings me food without me asking.”

“Uh…  We start with this stuff, right?” He asked, holding up a bottle of lotion.  “Natasha puts… something like this on her face before makeup, I think.”

Lotion.

You shrugged, trying not to make a face.  “This is all on you, buddy.”

God, you hoped he didn’t put actual lotion on your face.

Helplessly, you watched as he squirted a little bit out onto his fingers, before turning to you.  “May I?” He asked, waiting until you nodded to start gently rubbing it into your skin.

The fact that he’d put lotion on your face instead of moisturizer meant that you were going to have to wash your face immediately after, no matter how the makeup turned out.  If you left it on for too long, there was no way your face wasn’t going to break out.

“You’re grimacing,” he said with a groan, pursing his lower lip as he finished rubbing the lotion into your face.  “I already messed it up, didn’t I?”

“No, no,” you giggled, shaking your head.  “Keep going.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he turned back to the neatly organized products.  “Uh… Well, this says primer, so that means it has to go first, right?”  He frowned, realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer from you and he wasn’t allowed to use his phone.

It was kind of killing you that he was using his fingers for everything so far.

“Can you at least tell me the order you do things in?” He asked, looking a little overwhelmed.  “Because my ex did her makeup face, eyebrows, eyes, lips.  But Natasha does it eyebrows, eyes, face, lips when she does it at our house.”

“I do it how Natasha does it.”  You took the momentary break to snatch a takeout container marked ‘spider roll’ and a pair of chopsticks.

He nodded, scanning the vanity until he found what he must’ve been looking for.  “Okay, eyebrows.”  He held up a little Anastasia Dipbrow, and you could’ve wept with happiness at his choice.

There was hope for him, yet.

Steve took a moment to dig through your brushes, before picking out a Morphe M124 brush—a firm shadow brush definitely not meant for eyebrows. “So, how’d you get the name ‘Bambi?’” He asked as he leaned in close, carefully bringing the brush to your brows. His breath smelled of mint gum, and his hand was a pleasant warmth against your face.

“Because Nat says I’m the clumsiest person she’s ever met,” you said with a short laugh, trying your best not to mess him up.  “She said that I remaindered her of a newborn fawn.  We actually became friends because I tripped and spilled queso all over her when we were in college, and then sat with her in the laundry room for two hours.

You had no idea what happened with eyeshadow, since he made you close your eyes during the entirety of it.  And you were surprised with how well he managed to put on mascara.

“I use this thing, right?  And… what’s it called?...  I bounce it or something,” he said, brows furrowing as he stared at one of your many Beauty Blenders.  He picked out a foundation from the eighteen you had sitting on the vanity, and he carefully began to drag it across your skin.

Dry.  He was dragging your dry Beauty Blender across your face.

“I don’t like that you’re biting your lip,” he muttered, though there was an embarrassed smile on his lips.

“Why not?” You laughed.

“It makes me nervous because I know I’m doing something wrong,” he said, his blue eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a second before he quickly looked away again, his cheeks tinging pink.

“You’re doing… fantastic,” you reassured him, though the both of you knew it was only half-true at best.

He shot you a look, and your heart fluttered a little in your chest.

Steve went quiet for a few moments, before asking, “So what happened between you and Thor?”  After a second, he quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me.  And I don’t know if you like doing jump cuts in your editing or if you even want people to know what happened and—”

“Steve, it’s fine,” you said, effectively cutting him off.  You took in a deep breath.  “Uh…  Well… We just kind of grew apart, I guess. We both want different things from life and, hell, his move out to L.A. just kind of showed us how much it wasn’t working anymore.  We’ll always be friends, and I’ll always love him, but…  I don’t know.  It’s more of a family kind of love now, if that makes sense?”

“It makes total sense.”

“And it was no one’s fault.  Truly.” You closed your eyes as you spotted him grab your translucent powder.  Usually you used it to bake your face, but he just did an all over dusting.  “What we had was really, really good, and I’ve never had anything bad to say about him.”  You paused. “Except that sometimes he forgot to put the seat down and I’d fall into the toilet at three in the morning.”

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement.  You could feel him putting on what you hoped was blush and contour, but you had no way to tell without opening your eyes, and you were just enjoying having someone do your makeup for once and not the other way around.

“Okay,” he said after smearing what you prayed was lipstick.  “I think I’m done.”

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve done,” you said, pulling out a hand mirror. You’d put the mirror you usually kept in the center of the ring light beneath the vanity, in order to keep yourself from peeking.  Your eyes widened as you took in your face, your hand slapping over your mouth.

Your foundation was a little bit thin, with how he’d dragged it across your skin and foregone concealer.  Your eyebrows were a good shape, though they were extremely blocked out. Your eyes were alright.  He’d gone simple, only using a shimmery pink eye shadow on the lid.  But, once again, he hadn’t used concealer to set a base.  It didn’t look bad, just not as good as it could’ve gone.  There was even a little bit of gold in the corner of your eyes.  Your mascara was only covering about half of your lashes, and he hadn’t done your bottom ones, but that was probably out of fear, and you wouldn’t fault him that. Your contour was a little heavy, and your blush almost nonexistent.  Your lipstick was… acceptable.

“Ta da,” he said, trailing off as he waited for your reaction.

A laugh bubbled from your lips as you touched your face.  “This isn’t the best I’ve seen, but it definitely isn’t the worst,” you said.

“You know what,” he mused, a triumphant grin on his face.  “I’ll take it.”

Later that night, after you spent three hours editing everything and posted the video, your phone dinged.

Maria Hill: The Boyfriend Does My Makeup Challenge video was brilliant.  No one can shut up about how cute it is.

You hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Fuck it,” and shooting a text off to Steve.

Bambi: Everyone loves the video :)

It took less than two minutes to receive a response.

Steve Rogers: That’s great! Let me know if you ever want to do another video!  Goodnight, sugar :)

Bambi: Goodnight, Steve :)

[blankdblank]

Safe Pt 2

Pt 1

@satanskatze​

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@changlingkhat

…

Hopes of not being alone rose again in the morning to the automated replay of the second disk of shows beginning for the second time his ears strained finally to hear the subtle sigh in a shift to the sound of another triple beep from a scan. One sharp gasp and a relieved sigh had the Prince smirking to you saying, “Vision, morning.”

“Yes, yes it is. One hundred percent restoration of eye sight. Very well done.”

“Thank you,” you groaned back clearly rubbing your face through his floating to Loki’s bed, asking at his nearness, “How is Loki’s?”

The direction of the question towards the Prince alerting him to the three beeps above his face granting Vision to say, “Still recovering nicely. Improvement is constant so far.” Like one would pet a dog he patted Loki’s shoulder saying, “Very well done.” Loki simply laid still to the red man straightening up to the distant smoke alarm urging a clearly faked gasp from him, “My muffins!” Out the open door he flew to soar up through the hall to his own floor to save what could be saved of said muffins.

Softly Loki couldn’t help but chuckle imagining the look on Vision’s face in fleeing and wet his lips moving to sit up hearing you folding your blanket that was laid on the couch. “Would you like a shower?”

“Yes, I seem to have, perspired in my sleep. Quite the active dream.” Brushing the blankets back he slid to the edge of the bed wetting his lips waiting for your nearing him with a hand raised.

“Perhaps I should remove your bandages first, or I will have to climb a sink in there.”

“Ah, perhaps, yes.” A clip on the side of his head was undone and steadily the top bandage was unwound granting no less light in its removal at all worsening his hope he could have been somehow miraculously cured overnight. Second layer was removed along with two swatches over his eyes and he asked, “How are my eyes?”

Under his lids milky pink eyed looked back at you on the face cow patterned between Jotun and Asgardian toned skin at his body’s trouble in holding a steady shield while the white scars of the lingering burn marks were being healed by the shared healing abilities your dna continued trying to remove fully while also repairing his eyes. “A lovely shade of pink like strawberry starburst.” The comment had his mouth drop open and you said easing a strip of his hair back behind his ear, “I am a Doctor Loki, you are entitled doctor patient confidentiality.”

“You are a Doctor, or a scientist? Because the two are very different, there are many Doctors on this team.”

“Strange was a Neurosurgeon while I worked for over a decade as a Pediatric Surgeon, which between brains and babies I do have to be biased in saying my field is more complex than an eight pound grey blob.” The argument made him smirk knowing the pair of you had it out several times arguing over fake doctor shows on tv all the time on how that surgery would actually go often leading to you being at odds.

“Pray do say what you truly feel.”

“No teasing, same as you and Thor, he’s got a hammer and you have your magic and daggers with all the cunning you can muster against that giant puppy dog of a Prince.”

“I am not a puppy?” Rolling your eyes you shook your head while he wondered what you were feeling tapping fingertips across his forehead and upper cheeks, “I can be quite adorable myself.”

“True, I did not mean to offend.”

“None taken, though the comparison to the cuddle friendly creature has been made several times towards my brother.”

“In truth it is because he can be quite aloof and oblivious to things while ultimately friendly and eager to please.”

“Ah, there it is. You say that as if it is a fault, it has served him well.”

“Perhaps, and sent many down a downward spiral when their self image is based on approval of others.”

“You do not seek approval?”

“I am a Doctor, no one expected me to be their best friend, they paid me to save their children. To give them as much time and as full a life as possible once they left my table, or a kind send off when I wasn’t able to. No one certainly liked me then when a baby is lost.”

To the solemn tone of your voice his hand shifted from his knee to the side of your leg wishing he could find your arm, “Oh, forgive me. I had no intention-,”

“No, medicine has its limits, as do my abilities. Generals and Surgeons alike see the ins and out bloody battles skirting death.”

“I take it there was a patient here to drag you in to all this.”

“You could say that. One of those whales you brought here made me break my secrecy and rush out to help people on the streets.”

“Ah,”

“I got another three months in my hospital before the questions drove me out on how much I was relying on my surgical prowess or just hiding behind my ability. Either way the horse learned to tap dance it shouldn’t matter if he’s wearing a bonnet or not.” To himself he chuckled and you said, “The scabs from the burn are mostly gone, as is the swelling and bruising. What color did you want to wear today?”

“Uh, I haven’t worn my maroon shirt in a good while, and the black jeans.” He heard his closet door open, “Gold under trousers and socks should do nicely.”

“Under trousers,” you mouthed to yourself assembling his requested items that were folded in a pile on top of the towel you picked for him and settled into the bathroom that once you started the shower for him the tour of how his clothes were stacked and where his soaps were lined up along with his loofa and towel for when he was done.

Once the door was shut the Prince stripped nudging the discarded clothes aside as you had said to, stepping into his open shower sighing under the hot water beading over his skin both welcome and a near to too hot around his eyelids he kept shut. From soaping up his body a small dab of shampoo was used to ensure none would be left in his hair or risk any getting into his already wounded eyes. To himself he basked in the wafting scent of the soap washing away the faint musk he awoke with due to his sweat inducing dream for what seemed to be a suitable amount of time signaling his fumble to shut the water off and find his way back to his waiting towel.

Pats and slides of the towel across his skin found him dried and naked ruffling the towel through his hair tightening up to its natural curly poof drawing a huff from the blinded Prince in no way capable of straightening it out himself outing him of another secret of his daily routine. A leg at a time his briefs and socks were added with jeans next and shirt after, bending down he found his clothes he counted his way back to the door and located his closet and hamper inside from there then to bed again with comb in hand to try and manage something of his curls.

“Breakfast,” followed a knock on the door that slid back.

Following a huff he said, “Not a word on my hair.”

“Really? Add four feet to yours and you will face my daily dilemma Prince Charming.” Curiously his head tilted and a foot tapping his had his hand up for the walk to his table again. “I’ll wrangle your curls,” you said taking the comb to work with the straightener from the bath to his chair to work strip by strip all the strands to his preferred slicked back style. “There, now you won’t have to face the agonizing shame of displaying those curly locks.”

“That is a stretch,”

“So you would parade your curls for all to see?”

“No, commoners see my hair and they want to touch it. I slick it back and they leave me be.”

“I think that might just be from the horns.” You teased.

“Ha, ha.” He flatly replied lifting another of the breakfast wraps you had made for him.

“Then again some women like the horns.”

“Doubtful,” Your throaty giggle had him lowering his wrap facing his head to you, “The giggle?”

“Not to be crude, but horns would give them something to hold onto.”

“In what sense? For battle that would be a poor place to grip an opponent with horns on their helmet.”

“Wow, now I feel bad bringing it up,”

“Tell me.”

“I have a feeling it would jar a certain view you might have on the world.”

“The suspense is not assisting you in any way. Tell me now, if this is any way to do with how my attire is being mocked by this culture tell me now.”

“Trust me it is not being mocked in that sense.” He gave a pointed huff and you said, “Fine, a partner would take hold of the horns in an amorous sense.”

“Amorous?” he said flatly with brows furrowing.

“Were you to be holding a lover off the ground while having your way with them the horns would give them something to hold onto if they weren’t against a wall.” His mouth fell open and you said, “You asked.”

“You think that?!”

“I don’t have to think it there are countless women writing quite detailed stories on what they would do with you if given the chance, in several different manners of attire from battle armor to, well, a towel or nothing at all.”

“You think that, that is what I am asking.”

“Which part are you asking, if I would assume the helmet could be used to anchor ones self or if I imagine amorous encounters with you?”

“I-, well one could bet a kingdom you wouldn’t think of me in that way.”

“They would definitely lose a kingdom with those odds.”

Even more his brows furrowed in a lean closer to you with his arm on the table between you once his wrap was back on the plate, “What?!” He sharply asked to the thundering race of his heart.

“I may be ace but I do tend to have guest stars in my dreams from time to time. Majority are quite domestic on your part if that helps calm you down.”

“And the rest?”

“I won’t bother you with.”

“They are concerning me, tell me. Every detail, now.”

“Loki you couldn’t possibly think a demand could have me spilling my every fantasy to you. Prince or not no kingdom would give you that power.”

“I am a fantasy for you?” he lowly whispered as it washed over him.

“Smile like yours could make a whole cosmos go dark with shame for a glimpse of it.”

Had he the ability to blush fully he would have been beet red in his turn of focus back to his plate and finding his wrap again while muttering, “A simple yes would have sufficed.”

“If it helps,” you said halting his motion for food and tilting his head to face you again, “You don’t smile very often, or around very many. For most it is just imagination. They don’t get to know you.”

“Ah, then they would change their minds.”

“No, they would realize you don’t live in rooms of satin sheets and tapestries of yourself in golden halls lit by twenty four seven roaring fires in fireplaces bigger than cars with servants to line your path with rose petals and incense burners for dramatic effect.”

“That is oddly specific.”

“That is one of the vaguer stories.”

“Are there any on Thor? These stories?”

“Thor’s usually involve harems, from my own single browse through summaries, while you are for the most part seen as monogamous.”

“I am expected to be King, why would I not be faithful to my partner?”

“Can’t read about any monarchy where there isn’t a Mistress or pretty young maid being toyed with while the Queen has taken a mood against her husband. Even in Norse mythology Odin had lovers.”

“I am not privy to much of those details pertaining Mother’s marriage-,”

“I know the myths aren’t real.”

“Mother would have slaughtered him, as was her right were she to feel the least bit disrespected.”

“Good to know. She sounds pretty spectacular, had to be to put up with your dad.” Again he paused and you said, “Thor said he pushed you off the rainbow bridge into space. Got to be awful, I can’t imagine you were a terrible child, out being cruel or hurting people or spitting out demons deserving of being pushed into the nothingness of space. Now that kid from the Omen, I would punt him into space, or the girl from Poltergeist, or that meowing boy from the Grudge, him no problem.”

“Meowing boy?”

“When your eyes heal we’ll watch it. Demon child.”

“He truly said pushed?”

“That was how he said it to me first time I carried his sappy drunk self to bed when he was mourning you.”

“Thank you, for telling me.”

“I do have to ask, he says you stabbed him often,”

“In jest, yes.”

“Jest, how deep, paper cut, or to the hilt? And did you study anatomy to know where to not kill him or just guess at it?”

“Most of the time no more than an inch or two, they were very small blades, close to scalpels I would guess. Our bodies are sturdier than mortals.”

“Yes, but most children aren’t built like Thor is now, and if he was I have all the more respect for your mother.”

To himself he chuckled and replied, “There is an extra layer of fat in our youths, fat and fluids which over time shift to musculature in our young adulthood.”

“Still not building confidence.”

“We survived, just fine.”

“Alright,” you giggled out, “Eat up so I can wrap your head again.”

“Do you have to?”

“At least another day until the bruises heal. It is very sensitive to light.”

“Ah, one more day.”

“By then by my guess you should have basic grey blobs coming into view, start taking in light sources faintly.”

.

That was the start of it, a second day of being essentially blindfolded through an audio book playing while he lounged to a call taking you away from the tower leaving Peter taking up Loki’s table to not be distracted while working on his latest paper. A break from which leading to the teen’s fumbled try to explain what was happening to the audio of the show he’d missed the day prior through the film with you.

“Whoa! Table, out of nowhere!”

“Table?” Loki asked curious for what was happening in the fight scene just beginning in the otherwise uneventful show.

“I don’t know who threw it, but Hilary is now on top of Nathaniel. It, it looks like she’s shoveling cake down his shirt. I think that’s cake, unless it’s the gravy, but he’s not screaming like he’s been burn-,” Peter cringed and groaned, “Ooh, nasty. Emma just got clothes-lined into the laundry room by Ben, ooh,” again he winced while Loki could hear Sam and Steve from the kitchen on the main tower socializing floor coming to clamber over the back of the couch to join in the show. Both groaning too as Peter cringed again, “Robert just got shoved out a window, that stained glass one Hilby worked so hard on.”

Sam, “Oh she’s going to be so pissed when she gets back from that project in Rio.”

Bucky’s bound over his usual chair was hinted by the sound of the springs rebounding under his weight on the couch Nat was clearly on by her near hiss from whatever she was holding nearly spilling over with hushed Russian curses to follow. Loki rarely spent time with all of the team so casually, yet this train wreck of a show even in his blindness he wouldn’t dare miss out on granted you a break from the full day of caring for him. The warmth alone of the open walls of windows lighting the room with sunlight proving your assumption he required the wrap another day. Clips of this show could be re-watched but for his usually isolated self he did enjoy his silent place in the group reacting to the hour long debacle each week to fill his social time quote a good chunk of the way matched by laundry day and retrieving his purchases.

In all this though he missed you. Among the others your absence was noted by the lack of giggles from the chair no one else claimed except for Bruce, with whom you shared a rivalry on who could reach it first with tongues displayed for the loser or far below mediocre faces cast to one another on the loser’s path to another spot. Your losses however would place you in the bare spot on his right, a tight squeeze but Peter would squish himself up against the arm so Loki could casually scoot over to Sam and Steve practically intertwining to make space with glares through arms being laid out behind or in front of the pair naturally prone to shifting in place.

Wafting of smoke however hours later you returned to the tower helping Bruce with his clothing dilemma, who when his stretchy pants had failed to shrink again had taken two of the new worn seams around the band to ease his arms through like a giant pair of overall shorts. Strange with a wet cat’s attitude hovering with a tarp under him to collect the water he was covered in exited next. Quicksilver raced to change his now halter top of a shirt with pants shorn to chaps as Wanda was in Vision’s arms still laughing about her brother, draped in Vision’s cape after her skirt had been caught and the giant swarm of giant moths had been led away by her sweater she tossed down a stairwell.

There was no logic in the mission at all and to Peter’s confusion you were inside the body of a giant octopus plushie you had cut a hole in the head of when a binding of Hawkeye’s leg had been followed by a flame thrower incident in the carnival you had been sent to inspect requiring an improvisation of clothing. “She’s wearing an octopus...” Peter murmured and Loki’s head turned.

“Who? How does an octopus-?”

Tony strolled in with a woven kilt of stuffed snakes and popped beach balls arguing over his ear piece to the man who had given them the tip off with arms full of his dismantled suit off to his office to repair that not caring about his state of undress. Hawkeye, though drenched seemed altogether unfazed and limped in to stretch out across the sliver of couch between Natasha and Bucky using both their laps as cushions. Stealing snacks to munch on only making Bucky ask, “How did it go?”

Hawkeye chuckled to himself, lifting a finger to each thing said, “Shark tank, giant moths, flamethrower clown heads, enough said.”

Natasha, “I don’t think it is.”

Loki cut Hawkeye off asking, “Was Miss Pear injured?”

Hawkeye, “Oh yeah. Damn near singed her to bits those clowns, but she managed to push Bruce out of the way into the shark tank as Quick slammed through the wall freeing the moths who went crazy and Vision traces the signal for the heads as Hulk just about tore apart the rest of the booby trapped carnival wing we were in.”

“She was burned?! Is she in the hospital?!”

Hawkeye said as Sam waved a hand in front of his eyes reminding him of Loki’s eyes and that he couldn’t see your irritated return. “Oh no, nothing like that! Burns healed right off, though she was sent scrambling for something to wear. Tore the head open on a giant octopus and hopped right in it. We have pictures for later. Don’t you mind her,” he said pausing at Loki’s head turning through the lower half of his face and neck visible turning blue in his body’s try to blush in thinking of your body being revealed bare in an eruption of flames making Sam bite his lip and bury his head into Steve’s shoulder to keep from laughing out loud. “Just needs a good scrub down and something fluffy to put on and she’ll bounce back with a good meal. Ordered food on the way, nice and fattening soul food to brighten her mood again.”

Post subtle clearing of his throat to his face rippling back in patches to his shielded shade he asked, “Was anyone else injured?”

Hawkeye replied, “Just Tony’s pride a bit when a shark tore off the leg of his suit and then his arm got stuck in one of those duck shooting games and he blacked out on the tunnel of love. Went round three times we figured before finding him. But Strange handled the moths and we managed to put out the fire before we left. They wanted to remodel the carnival anyways.”

Loki, “How did Banner manage to calm down again? His last change I recall took him a week.”

Hawkeye, “Ah no, just a few minutes, Pear taught him this meditation trick so he can talk to the big guy.”

Natasha, “Good it’s finally working. He was skeptical at first.”

Sam, “No doubt he tried hiding in India and Asia for years trying out all forms of meditation, not sure what she did different.”

Strange strolled in stating after having changed and left his suit hanging up on his bathroom, “Merely tapped into his frontal lobe telepathically and gave it a good hard kick.”

Sam chuckled as Bucky said, “That your medical opinion?”

Strange, “Ha ha, no, he agreed to be scanned while she worked. I’ve never seen brains light up like that before. Full rage and dark frontal cortex to a Christmas tree moment where he was able to steadily switch back again. Then it was like mood lighting and Bruce said it was like he could hear what Hulk was saying.”

Loki, “So they may converse now, interesting.”

Strange, “More feelings than words, at the moment at least. Though Hulk did take offense to something that Venom said.”

Loki, “Venom?” Wondering who that might be.

Hawkeye, “Oh, um Pear said he was her brother. Researching a big story said he just wanted a scoop and wouldn’t get in the way. Bounded off into the distance like a creepy giant bullfrog.”

Strange, “If they are related I certainly can’t see the resemblance. Unless she’s got a secret three foot tongue hidden from us.”

Peter, “Three foot tongue?”

Hawkeye, “Oh ya, he’s creepy.”

Strange, “Thought you might know him Peter, huge white spider on his chest and back,” Peter shook his head, “Oh well, you don’t need to be his friend, just out there running around naked like that.”

Loki, “Miss Pear’s brother investigated in the nude?”

Hawkeye, “Well, he doesn’t exactly have any junk to need hiding, all smooth down below in the nether regions.”

Steve, “Why were you scoping out his nether regions?”

Hawkeye, “Because his nether regions landed right in front of my scope when I was laid out keeping watch. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

The commercial was used to full advantage and even with the show back on the commentary picked up lasting through the rest of the show. Behind Peter in a weaving path from the kitchen Loki finally made it to his room again with special box of crackers and muffins from Vision added to his collection of food in his closet. Alone on his own floor with you again following the wall to his door he drew in a breath and to the best he could manage traced the path to your door from memory. Tracing the doorway with his hands he confirmed it was yours by the imprint of a squirrel from the frame of your wardrobe Steve had been less than attentive in guiding to its new home causing the side to split and it getting shipped back for a replacement out of his pocket by his own offer. Shakily he drew breath again and raised a hand to knock only to find air in the slide of the door to the side.

“Whoa,” you said shifting your weight to miss his curved knuckle from colliding with your cheek, in a reach up your hand planted on his forearm his hand found as he quickly flashed you a grin.

“Hello, I wished to check on you. I heard you had a rough trip.”

“Not as rough as it could have gone.”

That was when he paused. It dawned on him that he had never seen your suite in this tower. He had noticed the indent in the door on the way to the laundry room you shared and caught no more than a glimpse of the screen used to block off the milky door panel to your bath that Tony was still ‘debating’ which would fit the flow of the floor. One of his latest claming quirks. Starting from light switch covers to doorknobs and now the doors themselves inside the suites with front doors that slid into the walls. Even ignoring the personal taste of the person using them he had chosen and even without practically any guests in your apartment still you angled screens to not be caught through the obscuring glass even just crossing the room.

He wanted to see it all. You had slept in his apartment. Memorized it enough to share how many steps to and from everything had been laid out. Still a mystery he ached to know everything about you he didn’t yet know.

“Everything ok?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, “Stark has not bought you a new door yet, has he?”

“Well he bought it, but might as well asked it be hand carved from the horns of the goats Thor has in Norse myths that regenerate each morning after he ate them from supper for the three month wait on them.”

A ghost of a smirk eased across his lips and he said, “You missed quite the episode. Unless you watched it yesterday.”

“Watched it on the flight back, needed to calm down.”

“Yes,” he swallowed again, “I heard of the fire, and your burns.”

“Burns are easy. Though now Stark will be distracted from decorating to come up with a super suit for each of us B team members and replacing Bruce’s stretchy shrink pants.”

The conversation only lasted a few moments more before he turned saying, “I should leave you.” That was deliberate, as was his wide armed walk back to the opposite wall luring his guide from you to lead him back to his couch that to silence his reiterated notion he was a burden a film was agreed to.

.

Morning came and instead of on his bed across his couch he was draped. By the feel of his palm legs were crossed and laid out to his side, meaning you were seated upright. Breaths slow and deep hinting to a deep sleep showing he could sneak just a bit more. Anxiously he wet his lips and his heart began to race in the cupping of your hip to ease you down more to lay flat. With one hand he did this impossibly heart racing task, blindly moving you to lie under him, his first tiny victory a pausing moment with his hand settled on your bare belly below the shirt bunched up in the move and knotted under your back. Proof of your lingering slumber came in a grumbling shift ending with the legs beside his uncrossing to lay one over his granting him a chance to lift his hips and slide you just a bit closer so he might drape across your chest.

He knew right where he wanted his head right in the curve of your neck so he might ghost his lips across the flesh there for a brief try of a kiss. There where like the other curves and folds of your body the natural scent you gave off lingered the longest now revealed to be exactly why his mouth tended to water in your every entrance to a common space. It was a musk ever so gently turning his chin that now mingled in the sweat come from another humid day in this supposed paradise of a home wrapped in glass, a material Stark had yet to master the workings of insulation and placing all for full display to the neighboring sky scrapers left it either a bit too warm or chilly in the mornings, no in between.

Just one, he promised himself, only he could feel the ridges on his skin protruding to his Jotun side releasing its own cinnamon like musk of its own he knew you could sense as in his few times of crossing paths post training or missions among the women nearby all came closet to floating like cartoon characters to chase his wafting aroma passing by. A hum, one pleased glorious hum had urged him on and breaths began to lighten, the neck under his lips began to shift welcoming more and to the opening of your eyes your head turned to align with his in a blind hover above you. Low and velvety he spoke his request, “I would very much like to kiss you, on the lips.”

Back to him you teased, “Kissing me again won’t hurry things along.”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with that,” he said leaning in, more for your ear making you smirk and reach up to turn his head to guide him lips to yours. Just one. The promise came again, yet somewhere in the mingling of tongues and a grip of his hair bandages shifted and lost focusing on the kiss he ached to press his forehead to yours in pausing breaths leading to a breathy giggle from you at untangling the cloth there revealing his fully blue face and still milky pink eyes taking in just the slightest hint of a head beneath his. Faint shoulders and neck were traceable in this grey mysterious blob of a world he did not care to inspect when you were here and the deliberate act of kissing was at hand. Forehead to forehead a kiss broke granting another breath and a moment for you to adjust the legs subtly wrapping around his.

Down again and lips met freezing fully to the sound of his door sliding open and Wanda’s stunned crack of her voice came with Vision’s hushed arguments muffled behind the door closing again surely in her guiding the scan happy team member surely pouting on his way to make breakfast instead, a task granting you time before that next scan. “I should probably go,” somehow in his open mouthed stammering you had found your feet and him his knees luring him to the edge of the bed as you turned away.

“Please stay,” he pled finding hold of your wrist with the other hand outstretched to meet your waist he felt you step into so he might smooth his hand there sweetly, “Please. Don’t run away. I swear-,”

“Loki, I’m all sweaty. It’s just, my pheromones, all pheromones.”

That had him huff and ease you down to sit on his knee, where through the slits of sunlight he could clearly trace the elegant blob of you inches from his face, “Please stay,” he pled again leaned in to press a sweet kiss just ever so slightly off center to your cheek where he had meant it to go. Guiding your hand up to lay an arm around his shoulders aching to have you embrace him through another fiery kiss just like moments before.

“I have to shower.”

“Shower here,” he offered, “Then you will see it is not pheromones to me.”

A sigh and you rose taking hold of his wrist this time parting his lips, “Come on then. Leaving you sweaty would defeat the purpose.”

A gathering of clothes came with yours summoned from your room with the discarded layers left outside the door. Surely it was his blindness to have you so boldly offer to be bare before him, so that you might have the courage to admire him fully without fear of him possibly finding something disapproving on your bare figure. Only, he never could. Wrinkle, fold, scar or blemish he would never turn you away or make you feel anything less than a Goddess had he the chance to convince you it wasn’t a farce.

Ripples, to the first drop of water there were flashes of light in a pale blue reminding him of the neon caves back on Asgard. Pure darkness with ripples of glittering blue waves of water lapping against the sea cave’s floor and walls reflected upon the smooth black walls and ceiling above. And he could see you, no not in color but he could trace every bead and stream of water cascading and outlining your magnificent shape before him. Separate shower heads were claimed and used with soaps shared and passed between you to fully scrub leaving him blinded to streaks of you in the bubbles hindering full paths of water down your skin that lit up once more when clear.

He didn’t know how long he waited, merely that he wanted one more. “See, no pheromones.” Up behind you he could sense the ache to arch the elegantly curved back into his chest to the press of his lips to your shoulder.

“Loki,” The only word it seemed you could say or needed to urge him on as a kiss to your neck followed with a shift around you to find your lips together again. Against the wall he planted you in the loop of your arms around his neck to balance on your toes. With hands tracing down to your hips and once there to your neck his lips went again, trailing down and down until he hit his knees and the most perfect gasp came to his somehow stunning lift of your thigh to rest on his shoulder.

Chuckles came to the unsteady drop of your body he cushioned with a drape of his arms behind your backside to his apology, “I apologize, my Starlight.” He hummed guiding you onto his lap where in the moment of your steadying he relinquished control allowing you full advantage on top of his lap guiding the pace through a clinging amorous unending kiss muffling the moans, hums and eventual cries of ecstasy.

From the water to bed dried and tucked into his arms. Warmly he held you against his chest knowing you hadn’t gotten much sleep seated up like that. So to a soft film playing he cuddled close ignoring the food left to wait on the table until you stirred to eventual hunger taking him and you to the kitchen to make something more forgiving to ignorance if you were to get distracted again.

[spacesuitsforemergency]

The Rise Of Iron Maiden

Chapter 4: Failure to Launch

Word Count: 2.9k

Originally Requested by: @amateurwriterbigdreamer

Previous Chapter: We’re in the Endgame Now

Next Chapter: The Return Of Iron Maiden

A/N: this chapters kinda slow, but I gotta fill the plot. Next chapters gonna be pretty Tye heavy (mostly from his POV)

“Wrah!” Nebula stood up, putting her hands in a fighting stance.

“You don't need to do that. Because uh... you're just holding position.” Tony mimicked a football goalpost with his hands as she flicked a paper football towards him. “Oh yeah, that was close.”

“I would like to try again.”

You and Tye watched from the front of the ship, both of you previously watching the stars. Both of you are silent, neither of you wanting to talk. You were still too shaken up from the events of nearly last month. Nebula had attempted to fly you back to Earth, but the Milano broke down and now you were floating in space, hopeless.

“Fair game. Good sport. Have fun?” Your dad asked Nebula.

“It was...fun.” She nodded slowly.

“Tye, Y/N, wanna play?” Tony looked over to the two kids.

“I’m good.” Tye mumbled.

“Hey, come on.” Your dad urged. “It’s fun. Right, Nebula?”

“It is fun.” She nodded, face deadpanned. Tye sighed, but eventually joined them.

“Y/N?” Your dad offered.

“Um...I’m tired, I’m gonna go sleep for a little bit.” You give him a small smile as if to say you were okay, before retreating to the back of the ship towards the bedrooms.

You lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You think about everyone at home, and the frustration of not knowing who was still alive. Were Eduardo, Jaime, Peter, Quill, Drax, Mantis and Doctor Strange still alive? Or did they die? Would they ever come back? Could you bring them back?

Usually Eduardo was there to tell you you were overthinking and to calm you down, but he was gone. He turned to dust in your hands, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You hated it when you couldn’t control something, much like your father. If you couldn’t protect the ones you loved, you felt useless. You felt guilty, believing it was your fault that Eduardo, Jaime and Peter were gone. You were even guilty about the Guardians of the Galaxy, even though you barely knew them.

You looked over at your pile of armor on the floor. You dragged yourself out of bed, sitting against it. You clicked a button on your helmet, and waited for it to light up.

“This thing on?” You ask nobody in particular, then let it scan you. “Alright. Hey mom. Uh...sorry for not listening to dad. Again. I should be down on Earth, I’m sorry I’m worrying you. Dad makes you do that enough already.” You chuckle softly. “Um...it’s day 22, just floating in space. The blue meanie tried to fly us back. You’d like her, she’s very practical. It’s only her, me, dad, and Tye left. He doesn’t talk much-well, not that he did before. He’s pretty broken over Jaime. Peters gone too, poor kid. Aunt Mays gonna kill him. Um...I lost Eduardo. He just...turned into dust. I couldn’t do anything about it...I really miss him, mom. I won’t miss him much longer though, in fact, I might see him in the next...48 hours of oxygen. It won’t last long with four people on here though. I didn’t think I’d die like this, it’s so pathetic.” You scoff and shake your head. “I thought I’d die saving people. I want to die saving people, that’s how I’ve always wanted to go but...nope. I’m gonna die because this piece of junk broke down in the middle of the universe. So uh...I’m gonna go play some paper football with the two grumps and dad. I’m really sorry, mom. All you do is put up with our shit, and tell us when to stop. I should’ve listened this time.” You go to turn it off, quickly saying, “I love you.”

You fall back against the bed, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. The low oxygen levels are already effecting you, which meant your dad and friend were both feeling them too. You wanted to go join them, but you couldn’t move your whole body enough to do so. You lied there, staring at your Iron Maiden suit. The suit you used to save people, but you couldn’t even save yourself. You failed Eduardo. Jaime. Peter. Quill. Drax. Mantis. Doctor Strange. And who knows who else.

You feel yourself being lifted off the ground, and you look up to see Nebula. She was mostly machine, so the lack of oxygen wasn’t effecting her as bad as you. She carried you over to a couch that she had dragged into the control room, facing the window. Your dad was sitting in the middle, Tye beside him. Nebula sat you on his other side, then left.

Tony gathered enough strength to lift his arms, resting them around the two kids’ shoulders and pulling them closer to him. He wanted to comfort them, but he couldn’t speak. You all stared out at the stars, awaiting your deaths.

•

A bright light pierced your brain, making you cringe as you wake up. You open your eyes and blink until they adjust. You see a woman outside of the ship, looking in. You weakly shake your dads leg, trying to alert him. His hand rests atop of yours to tell you he’s okay, as he slowly sits up a little.

“Who’s that?” Tye mumbles, half asleep.

“Not sure, kid.” Tony replied. You pass out again, not able to hold consciousness. You wake up again when someone shakes you awake, opening your eyes to see your dads best friend, Rhodey.

“Y/N? Hey, think you can stand?” He asked softly. You nod, and he helps you to your feet you lean on him as he walks you down the ramp to outside.

“Is mom...?” You breathe out, still blinking away black spots in your vision.

“Y/N! Tony!” You hear her yell from somewhere, before Rhodey can even open his mouth. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

Your mom practically crashed into you, holding you tightly to her. You fall into her, not having the strength to stand any longer. Your dad walks by himself over to his two girls, hugging them tightly. Back in space, he truly thought those would be his last moment, so he was eternally grateful that he got to live long enough to hold them both again.

Tye watched the scene from where Natasha was helping him stand, feeling alone. His mother was in a different dimension than him, and Tye felt like she probably didn’t even miss him.

“Nat?” He breathed out.

“What’s up?” She asked, looking down at the exhausted boy.

“You have food that isn’t freeze dried and in a silver bag, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, come on.” She chuckled, helping him walk towards the Compound.

“Don’t you two ever do that again.” Pepper began to cry.

“No promises.” Tony kissed each of his girls on top of the head, as Steve approached you guys. “Couldn’t stop him, Cap.”

“Neither could I.” Steve nodded.

“I lost the kids. Peter. Jaime. Eduardo.” Tony shook his head, guilt washing over him once again.

“Tony, we all lost.”

You’re brought into the compound, each immediately given an IV and some food. You and Tye eat like animals, not having any rations for the past couple of days. You watch a holographic screen listing the heroes that disappeared in the Decimation; Wanda Maximoff, Nick Fury, Jaime Reyes, Bucky Barnes, Peter Quill, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, T’Challa, Eduardo Dorado Jr...

“It’s been 23 days since Thanos came to Earth.” Rhodey announced.

“World governments are in pieces. The parts that are still working are trying to take a census. And it looks like he did... he did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent, of all living creatures.” Natasha paced slowly in front of the holographs.

“Where is he?” You ask timidly, still nervous about him.

“We don't know. He just opened a portal and walked through.” Bruce Banner said slowly, trying to not scare the kids even more than they already were.

“What's wrong with him?” Tony asked, motioning to Thor, who was staring into space.

“Oh, he's pissed. He thinks he failed. Which of course he did, but you know there's a lot of that's going around, ain't there?” A talking raccoon spoke up from behind you.

“Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.” Your dad pointed at him.

“You’re with him, kid? Really?” The raccoon looked at Tye.

“You know a talking raccoon?” You asked Tye, staring at the raccoon.

“He’s not a-.”

“I’m not a raccoon!” It snapped at you. “Why do you humies keep saying that?”

“We've been hunting Thanos for three weeks now. Deep Space scans, and satellites, and we got nothing. Tony, Y/N, Tye, you fought him.” Steve interrupted.

“Who told you that? I didn't fight him.” Tony scoffed. “No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleecker Street Magician gave away the store. Nearly killed my daughter, and Tye. One hit away from it, in fact. That's what happened. There was no fight.”

“Okay.”

“He was unbeatable.” Tye shook his head, and you agreed.

“Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?” Captain America asked.

“Pfft! I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision. I didn't wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming.” Tony said.

“Dad, calm down.”

“Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus.”

“And I needed you. As in past tense. That trumps what you need. It's too late buddy. Sorry. You know what I need?” Your dad stood up, slapping things off a table. Everyone winced from the sudden noise. “I need to shave. And I believe I remember telling all youse-“

Tony lunges at Steve, but Rhodey stepped between them and held your dad back.

“Alive and otherwise what we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not-that's what we needed!” Tony yelled at Steve.

“Well, that didn't work out, did it?” Steve kept his composure, only angering your father even more.

“I said, "we'd lose". You said, "We'll do that together too." And guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren't there. But that's what we do, right? Our best work after the fact? We're the Avengers, we're the Avengers. Not the Prevengers.”

“Dad! Stop!” You shout at him, your head spinning.

“You know what, honey? The adults are talking, alright?” Your dad said, with a little more venom than he intended.

“Mr. Stark you made your point just-“ Tye started.

“Nah, nah. Here's my point. You know what?” Tony turned back to glare at Captain America.

“Tony, you’re sick.” Rhodey insisted, trying to get him to sit back down.

“I got nothing for you, Cap! I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar.” Tony slowly walked up to Steve, getting right in his face. You all tensed when Tony ripped his arc reactor out of his chest, smacking it into Steve’s hand. “Here, take this. You find him, and you put that on. You hide.”

“Dad!” You shout when he suddenly falls to the ground.

“Tony!” Steve reached down to help his old friend up.

“I’m fine. I...” Your dad trails off, falling unconsciously to the floor. You try to get up, but Natasha pushes you back down by your shoulders.

“Get him to a room. Call Pepper.” Natasha ordered the men, before turning back to you two. “He’ll be fine, Y/N. Just needs to rest. So do you.”

“Not tired.” You shook your head stubbornly.

“Nebula, Rocket, think you can handle watching them for a moment?” She asked the two aliens, sitting on the wall behind you.

“Yes.” Nebula nodded.

“Sure.” The raccoon, or, Rocket shrugged.

Natasha gave you a reassuring smile before turning to help the other bring your father to a room.

“Sorry about your friend, kid.” Rocket hopped down and rounded the couch you and Tye were on to face him.

“Yeah. Sorry about the others.” Tye nodded, expression not changing at all. Your eyes drifted back to the screen, watching more and more names and pictures appear onscreen.

“Where are you going?” You hear Natasha ask someone.

“To kill Thanos.” The lady that flew you home stated simply as they emerged from the hallway.

“Hey, you know, we usually work as a team here, and between you and I, morale's a little fragile.” Nat mumbled.

“We realize up there is more your territory, but this is our fight too.” Steve nodded.

“You even know where he is?” Rhodey joined them.

“I know people who might.” The lady said, blank faced.

“Don't bother. I can tell you where Thanos is. Thanos spent a long time trying to perfect me. And when he worked, he talked about his great plan. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I'd ask "where would we go once his plan was complete?". His answer was always the same: "To the Garden." Nebula stood up, walking over to them.

“That's cute, Thanos has a retirement plan.” Rhodey joked, earning small smiles from you and Tye. He smiled back, glad to bring the two kids joy, even for a moment.

“So where is he?” Steve asked, and the adults walked over to a round table. You and Tye joined them, regaining enough strength to stand. You still leaned on Rhodey, which he happily let you do.

“When Thanos snapped his fingers, Earth became ground zero for a power surge of ridiculously cosmic proportions. No one's ever seen anything like it... Until two days ago.” Rocket showed a hologram of a planet, with a shockwave visibly traversing the surface. “On this planet.”

“Thanos is there.” Nebula added.

“He used the Stones again.” Natasha muttered.

“Hey, hey, hey. We'd be going in short-handed, you know.” Bruce piped up.

“Look, he's still got the stones, so...” Rhodey said.

“So let's get him... Use them to bring everyone back.” The lady told you.

“Just like that?” Tye raises an eyebrow in disapproval.

“Just like like.” Steve nodded.

“Even if there's a small chance that we can undo this... I mean we owe it to everyone who's not in this room to try.” Natasha tried to convince everyone. You looked down, feeling the guilt from letting your friends die in the pit of your stomach.

“If we do this, how do we know it's gonna end any differently than it did before?” Bruce asked.

“Because before, you didn't have me.” The lady crossed her arms.

“Hey, new girl, everyone here is about that superhero life. And if you don't mind my asking, where the hell have you been all this time?” Rhodey put a hand on his hip, making sure to balance so you wouldn’t fall.

“There are a lot of other planets in the universe. And unfortunately, they didn't have you guys.” The lady narrowed her eyes at Rhodey.

Thor walked out of the shadows, towards the lady. They stand in front of each other as if challenging the other. Thor holds out his hand, and Stormbreaker flies into his hand. Then they both grin at each other.

“I like this one.” Thor said.

“Let’s go get this son of a bitch.” You growl.

“Like hell you’re going!” Natasha laughed.

“No way, kids.” Steve shook his head. “Adults only on this one.”

“Would you quit treating us like children?” You glare at them.

“We probably got more punches in on Thanos than all of you combined.” Tye said venomously.

“First of all, not possible.” Natasha said. “Second of all, you are not coming. Tony and Pepper would go into cardiac arrest if you came along.”

You and Tye exchange looks, looking to the floor in compliance.

“Look, we know you’re hurting. But going at him all malnourished and seeking revenge is not the way to do it.” Rhodey told you guys.

“You’ll stay here with Tony and Pepper, okay?” Natasha asked. “Rest. Let us take care of this.”

“...okay.” You sigh.

“Thank you.” She pulled both of you into a hug. You melted into it, Tye tensed up.

You hugged each of the remaining Avengers, even Thor let you hug him, though he didn’t hug back. You and Tye stood and watched at they boarded the now fixed Milano, then watched them take off. You stood there for a little bit after, staring at the dark sky.

“Tye?” You whisper after a long stretch of silence.

“Yeah?”

“You think they can do it?” You ask

Tye hesitates. You’re scared, he’s scared, and both of you just want even a glimpse of hope. He debates what to tell you, what he truly thought or what he knew you wanted to hear.

“...no.”

You nod slowly, agreeing with him. A single tear falls down your face, dropping onto the paved pathway.

“I miss them, too.” Tye took a shaky breath, fighting his own tear ducts. He never cried, let alone in front of anyone.

“I’m sorry you lost Jaime.” You turn to him. “I know how much he meant to you. Eduardo too.”

“I’m sorry you lost Peter. You guys are as close as Jaime and I are. And I’m sorry you lost Eduardo, too.” Tye quickly blinked away tears.

“Can you believe they’re all gone?” You ask.

“No.” He shook his head. “I wish it could just be a month ago. When we were on that one mission.”

“The one where Jaime and Peter accidentally broke into Scott Lang’s house?” You giggle.

“How do you accidentally break in?” Tye laughed, shaking his head. “They’re truly idiots.”

“But they’re our idiots.” You nod, smiling sadly at the sky.

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.

[oceanera12]

Winter Soldier!Steve

I don’t see enough of this AU

And when I do it is ALWAYS Stucky So let’s take a different route on this bad boy, shall we?

First movie follows the same story line up to the train section.

Don’t know how and don’t think too hard about it because AU but somehow Steve is the one thrown from the train, not Bucky--

BUT

Bucky isn’t Steve. Because when Bucky “dies” Steve breaks down and cries. 

When Steve “dies” Bucky stares at the point where his friend fell in shock as he realizes he’s failed his friend. His stupid, punk, friend who survived getting beaten in back alley’s, illness inducing winters, allergies, the deaths of both parents, and a freaking government science experiment. His friend is gone and all he has left of him is a metal frisbee.

Yes, he is sad. But he is mostly ticked.

Zola is found by Barnes before the other Commando’s because Barnes rips off the flipping door, grabs Zola around the neck and starts choking him (and almost kills him), but the Commando’s manage to snap him out of his death rage and Zola is taken in (albeit very afraid and very bruised)

After some “interrogation” Zola admits to Barnes having a variant of a super soldier serum from his time experimenting on the soldier. Stark looks into it, confirms the fact, and suddenly Barnes finds himself in charge of the Commandos and is given Steve’s shield.

He agrees to do it on ONE condition. In the public reports of the incident, Captain America is still Steve Rogers and will always be Steve. If anyone asks, Bucky died on that train, not Steve because gosh darn it, Bucky is not going to let his friend fade into the background again.

Bucky and Peggy have a friendship and an understanding between them. Whatever happens next is for that little guy in Brooklyn.

Bucky makes a very ruthless Captain America. He does his job with efficiency and speed. The Commando’s back him up whole heartedly.

The movie plays out pretty much the same with the Red Skull fight and Bucky getting on the plane (he doesn’t kiss Peggy, geez), and then going to crash the ship in the ocean.

The radio call is different. In the call, Bucky makes Peggy swear to tell the public it was Steve in the plane. This was Steve saving the world, not James Barnes. “Because that kid saved me before he saved anyone else.”

Then he asks Peggy to tell him about how she first met his punk brother. She obliges, tears running down her face. She doesn’t know when Barnes was cut off but by the time she was done the radio had gone dead.

Seventy years later, SHIELD pulls out a frozen Captain America. Most everyone is confused when the man is brown haired, not blonde, and upon closer inspection they find whoever this is, it is NOT Steven Rogers.

Fury pulls up the redacted reports and very old, very disclosed files before finding the truth about Captain Rogers and that the person they have found is Sergeant James Barnes.

James doesn’t bolt out of the hospital room SHIELD staged. He points out the inconsistencies, the radio game being wrong, etc, then sits down and basically asks when they are going to start torturing him for information.

Fury comes in, tells him he’s been frozen and when Bucky doesn’t believe him, Fury takes him on a tour around New York City.

Bucky requests if they release anything on Captain America being found, to say it was Steven Rogers, who is now being very recluse and does not want any attention.

Avenger’s plays out slightly different. 

For one, Tony and Bucky don’t butt heads as much. Actually, Tony thinks Bucky is Steve Rogers at first (he still really doesn’t like Steve because of how his Dad talked about him) and is extremely confused when James takes off the mask and introduces himself as Sergeant James Barnes. Then Tony backpedals on that information and does his own research on it. Tony’s the one who finds the SHIELD weapons, James is angry at Fury and actually sides with Tony

For another thing, Bucky doesn’t get along with Thor very well. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a stupid blonde but it’s just bad memories.

Nat and Bruce are fine with James, as is Clint when he comes around.

Everyone beats up the aliens and Loki and it’s a win, win.

In between movies, Bucky hangs out with Tony to catch up on modern day (because Tony really likes watching him be confused/learning pop culture and James needs it because what are these references?) Bucky tells Tony about the “real” Steve. The kid before the shield. I wouldn’t say Tony loves Rogers now, but he definitely understands him better and has a little more sympathy for the guy.

This is important because Winter Soldier is up

Bucky meets Sam while running. Sam doesn’t know who he is at first until they are introduced, then kind of confused because isn’t Barnes dead? But he doesn’t bring it up and leaves it at that because this guy is clearly suffering from PTSD and a soldier not used to being home.

Mission with Black Widow, goes to see the giant battleships in the sky, and Bucky isn’t Steve. But he also knows this is a bit much/extreme for a constant military station so he doesn’t support the project because, yes there are aliens. So why are we looking at threats on the planet and not in space???

Bucky calls Tony and chats with him for a bit about it (he feels uncomfortable talking to Peggy because it’s not fair that Steve doesn’t get to see her). Tony points out the pros and cons of the project and cracks some jokes. Overall, not extremely helpful but helps clear Bucky’s head a little.

Nick is attacked, runs to Bucky, Nick is “killed” and Bucky chases after the killer. Similar roof scene (*note: I don’t know if Steve has the metal arm. If he does, I’m thinking it’s the right arm, not the left. Don’t know why, just think it should be that way if it is) and Winter Soldier vanishes

Okay, so-- Fury says to not trust anyone. And Bucky sure as heck doesn’t trust Pierce. But I feel like Barnes is more trusting than Steve (I’m serious, the Winter Soldier experience just threw that trait out the window). So Barnes trusts Widow enough to actually leave her with the drive and not put it in a vending machine (also tells her not to show it to anyone-- which she doesn’t.)

Just going to say the movie carries out the same for the most part (including contacting Falcon) EXCEPT--

When Bucky pulls the mask off Steve he calls his name out and we still get shot at and captured. Rescued by Maria Hill, find Fury, etc, etc.

THEN Bucky calls Tony Stark from a payphone, who’s confused as to why Captain America is wanted on the news. Bucky tells Stark about Steve. Tony probably doesn’t believe him at first because, “Hello, Barnes? He’s dead. Has been for a long time. You hit your head or something?” But Bucky explains and suddenly Tony finds himself diving into old S.H.I.E.L.D. files and reading up on Soviet science experiments from the cold war.

Also, Tony comes to help blow up the carriers because heck to the no, Hydra is not using his technology, no siree.

So Falcon and Stark are flying around the carriers and taking care of goons, when Falcon gets shot down Stark goes after him and when everything is falling apart, Stark tries to get close to Barnes to grab him, but can’t because of the big guns.

Meanwhile in the Bucky vs. Steve fight, we get the whole “trying to kill one“ another thing, but I feel like Bucky is way better at pushing Steve’s memory buttons and Bucky is a little more willing to punch Steve because he knows Steve wouldn’t want to kill him. So Steve figures out “wait, I know this guy” just before they hit the water.

When they crash in the water, both are semi-conscious and they are found by Stark who flies both to his compound and calls the doctors to come work on these two sad super soldiers.

Now Steve doesn’t remember everything. But he knows that: One, Hydra is going to be after him if they find out he’s still alive. Two, these people that helped him either knew him or know of him somehow and he really doesn’t want to hurt them. Three, his name is Steven Rogers and the punk from earlier is James Buchanan Barnes.

So Steve pulls a him and goes, “Nope, not putting you in danger” and the first chance he gets he flees Avenger’s tower and disappears into thin air.

Thanks, Steve. Thanks a lot.

Age of Ultron, nothing really changes. Tony is also looking for Steve and Bucky is a little more on top of things and tells Tony that Steve might have had something to do with his parent’s deaths but he’s not 100% sure.

Civil War. Okay, bear with me for a second because I can see Bucky actually being Pro-Accords. Not one hundred percent of the actual document but the idea behind it because “yes, people need to be held accountable for their actions” but also “you can’t save everyone no matter how hard you try, trust me I know that better than everyone, but that doesn’t mean you just sit there and do nothing because some government people tell you no, you can’t get involved.” (Basically Black Widow’s stance on this whole thing)

So when “Steve” bombs the accords, Bucky knows that’s not him and tells Tony as much (who doesn’t believe Barnes completely, but willing to give him a chance because of the past) and since Bucky technically signed the accords he has more pull in what happens to him and Tony is way more willing to listen.

Which means Bucky and Tony track down Steve in that apartment with actual permission to do so, on the condition they take the “Winter Soldier” into custody.

I’m not really sure what happens after this because Tony is going to find out about his parents, one way or another. Maybe Bucky’s stories about his old friend will keep Tony from trying to kill him. Maybe they won’t. Who knows? Heck, Zola may not even make it through the front door because Bucky is allowed to talk to Steve as the “therapist”

So end this AU however you want, I think it’d be pretty accurate. I’m just going to say the Accords got thrown out the window and Bucky and Tony start helping Steve recover from Hydra. Yay!