#tony is very susceptible

[spookyrea]

Been a While Since I've Held Anything

When a picture of Loki's soulmark goes viral, his mood takes a dramatic turn. He's moody, rude, and trying to ingratiate himself to you in bizarre ways. Maybe it has something to do with the anonymous love letter you sent him while trying to build up the courage to tell him how you really feel… Maybe it has something to do with the fact that your soulmarks match.

Chapter 1 / 3 - read on AO3

A soulmate-identifying mark AU - no warnings, though epilogue will contain smut

(chapter 2) (epilogue)

Dear Loki, you wrote. You’re vile.

The picture was uploaded to Twitter on December 12th at exactly 3:43 pm. It was terrible quality, taken in a dimly-lit bar. Loki’s head was bowed to hear his brother over the din, his hair drawn up for all the heat in the packed bar. A perfect storm of circumstance to allow his shirt collar to ride low on his shoulders, exposing the elegant slope where his neck met his spine - and about three quarters of his soulmark. 

Loki’s mark was a delicate thing. Twenty-two dots of varying sizes, curved in a crescent shape along the top of his spine to disappear into obscurity. It was a shape so familiar that you could have traced it blind – because it was also yours.

I don’t have the words to describe how you make me feel. You make me feel stupid. You frighten me. 

Someone like him left the public particularly susceptible to match hysteria – a phenomenon where infatuated individuals became convinced they were a match despite the obvious fact that they weren’t - and within a matter of hours the Avengers Tower was inundated with love letters. Pepper immediately benched him to the auxiliary rota, essentially dooming Loki to a few weeks of house arrest until the fervor could die down.

I hate your mouth, and your hair, and your eyes. Everything about him made your skin ache, ultraviolet hot like a sunburn. On a good day, Loki was charming; on a bad day, he could bring countries to their knees with a smile. On the rare occasion that that attention had been turned on you, you understood keenly why he was called Silvertongue – it was difficult to remove yourself from the fantasy that he might be interested in you when he leaned in so closely, spoke with such intimate conspiracy in his voice.  I hate how vulnerable you make me feel. 

You hoped that, by getting the awfulness of lovesickness out on paper, you could eventually begin to draft a real love letter. Something to slip through his mailslot alongside the deluge of adoring fans. He would never read it – Loki had made his thoughts on the public’s “meagre attempts at poetry” quite clear. (Though that didn’t stop his preening at the absolute magnitude of letters - and how each one seemed to raise Tony’s blood pressure just that little bit higher).

Yours,

You signed the letter with your name and slid it into a nondescript envelope for the formality of it all, sealed with a lick to the underside, and tucked it away in a junk drawer to be forgotten about.

You would write a dozen more love letters. They would range from sweet to obsessive, pouring onto paper every ounce of affection you felt. You fought gods and monsters and would-be bank robbers; if you could survive having your solar plexus shattered and four-weeks of bed rest, you could mail off one silly letter confessing that your coworker made your brain go fuzzy.

You eventually picked one and mailed it off -- anonymously -- along with your heart and every anxiety you had ever owned. 

(You almost believed it when you told yourself that this put you one step closer to actually telling him to his face.)

You would find that very letter in a drawer, seven weeks later. Untouched. Unsent.

“Look alive, agent.” Steve knocked you with his shoulder. He was too big for the backseat of the smart car you’d rented at the airport, meaning he had to crane his neck to avoid hitting the roof on every speed bump. “Simple extraction mission: escort Loki to the cargo, he’ll do his little magic trick, and we’ll be warm and on our way home before Santa comes.”

Steve wasn’t particularly devout; he didn’t go to mass on Sundays, and he swore like a sailor and drank twice as much (to little effect), but he took Christmas incredibly seriously. He had been compiling lists of possible presents for months and, despite the team running the gamut from Muslim to Jewish to Literal God, everyone would be getting a gift tomorrow morning.

Loki, though not as broad as Steve, was also suffering in the backseat to your right. His legs were folded ungracefully in the meager space behind the passenger seat, twisted to press up tightly to yours. There was nowhere to run between Steve and Loki, so you had to endure the terrible pleasure of the weight of Loki's thigh against yours for the entire ride.

It made the soulmark on the back of your neck burn. You wondered, as Clint took a turn too hard and Steve's weight forced you into Loki's side, if Loki felt that same itch. If the dots scattered down his back also sang whenever your hands brushed.

“Here we are,” Loki growled. The car rolled up two blocks away from your destination - a bank where an artifact said to be able to “control the minds of the weak-willed” was being stored in a safety deposit box. According to FRIDAY, the artifact was warded with a powerful magic that would unwind all but the most powerful sorcerers at the seams.

 (It’s just energy, Tony had grumbled, give me a few days and I can figure it out. 

Loki, with a terrible sneer, responded: Or you could just let the expert handle it.) 

You were there to provide backup should the plan go South. Your super-strength meant you could go toe-to-toe with most armed guards, holding off the worst of it until Steve, Nat and Clint could come to your rescue.

“Shall we, pet?” One of his gloves hands laced through yours. “Try not to get us killed, hmm?”

“What are you going to do about your,” you waved your free hand in front of your face.

His seidr sighed, crossing over him with a light hand; his features didn’t change (same sharp nose and cock-sure smile, though maybe a touch more gaunt) but his hair shortened and lightened to a pale auburn. He fixed you with a doe-eyed stare, dark brown eyes peering up through a fan of pale eyelashes; his attention – preternatural in its intensity – lit something inside of you that made you nervous, made you shy. Because despite the pale hair and the dark eyes, despite the freckles – it was still Loki. Still the most devastating smile you had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

When he spoke, he laid on a thick accent - Brooklyn, maybe. “Who would ever suspect me now?”

Your crush on Loki was basically public knowledge on the team; you could hardly stand to be in the same room as him some days because of how embarrassed he made you feel. It dissolved all human poise and reduced you to animal instinct, it seemed, because every time he turned to you at a party, or at breakfast, or in the backseat of a quin-jet in the early morning hours, you lost any ability to form full sentences and found yourself blinking cow-eyes at him until you could excuse yourself. If your avoidance bothered him, Loki never commented, but he did make an impressive effort to lord over as much of your attention as possible. Rare was the occasion when Loki was not teasing you, or asking after you, seeming to revel in your infatuation.

“Of course,” he continued. “My real soulmate would be able to recognize me based on shape alone. Which is demonstrative of how ridiculous the entire farce is, anyway – it took a picture for these souls to finally realize I was their match? Laughable. I have spent aeons tangling the threads of lovers – why should I trust the Norns to be kind to me?”

Loki stepped out of the car and hauled you along behind him. “Rest assured, pet – no number of pretty things claiming that my heart belongs to them will ever draw my eye. They are but window dressing in my already magnificent life.”

His mark was a heavy iron weight on the back of your neck. “That’s a terrible accent,” you blurted out.

His smile dropped away, affront evident in the way his nose tipped upwards; there was a lingering static charge to him, and you could feel his seidr humming in your back teeth. In his regular voice, he said, “I thought it was alright.”

“No one from Brooklyn talks like that.”

“Well, maybe you’ll appreciate it more once you see the accessories.” Loki drew from thin air a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, which he adjusted to sit high on his nose. “Don’t you think they make me look scholarly? What a gentleman.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. 

“What? You don’t like it?”

“I don’t think I have time to like it. We need to move, now.” A job was at least a welcome distraction; despite the way your skin crawled when Loki looked at you, you could narrow your attention to the work at hand. 

Loki conjured an armful of paper bags for the two of you, masquerading as a pair of Christmas shoppers. He ushered you into the bank with a hand on your back before stepping into his charming persona, plastering on the widest grin you had ever seen.

Getting into the bank vaults was easy enough; Loki prattled on about honeymoons and pre-nuptials and getting your valuables in order to a clerk who was clearly quite taken by him. As soon as she left the two of you alone in the back room, Loki leapt into action.

“Tony said we were looking for–”

“I know which one it is.” With a snap of his fingers, the security cameras overhead sizzled and drooped.

“How long do you think it will take them to notice the cameras are down?”

Loki’s seidr pried the door off one of the safety deposit lockers like it was made of plastic and not reinforced steel. “If they’re not completely incompetent? My guess would be a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, then.”

“You do that.”

You watched him work with a certain kind of love in your eye, admiring the outline of his profile as he unknotted the ropes holding the cargo together. It had been swelling, some sweet thing, in your chest now for some time – your match, it would whisper, growing frantic by the day, you were meant to be!  

If only you could get over the fear; the fear of rejection, of ridicule, or worst of all – patent indifference. The idea that Loki might look at your neck and not laugh, not sneer, but merely shrug, repeating his disinterest in letting fate choose for him.

“Pet,” he drawled. “Are you going to help? Or would you prefer to stand there and glower all day?”

You leaned backwards into the hall, craning your neck to see if anyone was coming. “I don’t glower.”

“Glare. Sneer. You may pick any synonyms you wish. Now, fetch me the gauntlet from my bag before we’re discovered and I have to invent some new ruse to whisk ourselves off to safety.”

He said it all with a scowl. It was rare to see him smile as of late; he seemed to follow the team around the tower like a perpetual storm cloud, sticking his nose into business he had no right to be implicated in; making snide, snobbish comments whenever possible. You imagined it had something to do with his soulmark being revealed; despite his boisterousness, he was a quiet, private sort when intimate details were concerned. He would prefer to keep the public - even his friends - at an arm’s length, lest he need to extricate himself quickly. 

To have something so personal broadcast so carelessly – well, you were sure it was chewing at him.

You handed him the metal glove, which he strapped around his wrist and forearm with a medical precision. His seidr hummed with each tug of the fastenings, speaking in hymns too old for you to understand. A startling quiet overcame Loki’s expression, before he flicked his wrist, conjuring sparks of green at his fingertips, and slowly sank his hand into the packing material in the box.

“You feel any different?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Please. This is child’s play compared to some of the tricks I played on Thor. I’m not sure I even require the gauntlet, honestly.”

Despite his lofty attitude, dread needled at your ribs. The box gave off a similar energy as Loki did, something that smelled like sea salt and ozone, and the two competing forces were making you feel a bit nauseous. If he needed help, you wouldn’t be much help – it would tear you in two without an afterthought – so you could only trust that he had it under control.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to die.” Terribly slowly, Loki twisted his arm and began to dredge the artifact up from its packing material. “Have some faith.”

It was the strangest sensation; as soon as the gauntlet - tech that Tony had drafted to interrupt other forces from interacting with Loki’s seidr after a nasty run in with a witch - was removed, you felt a sparkling, smacking kiss on your temple, as if to placate your anxiety. You glanced around but found no potential source of a draft.

“Are you playing some sort of trick on me?”

Loki shot you a glare. “Why would I do that?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

He didn’t deign to respond. The two of you abandoned the safety deposit box the clerk had pulled out for you as well as most of your pretend shopping bags and began navigating the halls at random, trying to find an exit in the unfamiliar layout. It was pure luck that the holiday meant the building was understaffed; you somehow made it to a fire exit without being accosted, though you could hear the beginnings of a commotion picking up now that the dead cameras were being discovered.

Beyond the fire escape, there was a familiar flash of blue-and-red as Steve swept past the bank, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low enough to hide his face from an unsuspecting crowd. You threw your shoulder against the door, which dented with a grating crunch. An alarm began to wail overhead.

“You coming?”

Loki’s grin was repugnant and bleeding innuendo – the most attractive thing you’d ever seen, really. “I hope so.”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid you make it too easy for me to tease.”

Loki shoved the artifact into a bag (not trusting it off his person in some pocket dimension or another) and then the two of you tried as surreptitiously as possible to blend into the sea of Christmas shoppers.

“Howdy, agents.” Steve tapped you with his elbow, the only physical acknowledgement of your presence. He kept his eyes faced forward, a calculated disinterest in his pursed mouth; if you didn’t know him so well, you would almost believe him to be talking on the phone through some hidden earbud. But then he glanced, side-long, at you and managed to convey everything you needed to know: you’ve been compromised, a car was coming, survive until then.

He grunted. “You got everything?”

You were not nearly as adept at subtle communication. “Yep. No issues.”

“One issue,” Loki growled. His hand curled around your elbow and yanked you backwards just as a convoy turned the corner, crawling down the snow-heavy street. Steve veered right, crossing the road with his shoulders pulled high; you would have made to follow if Loki hadn’t elbowed you aside, out of the sight lines of the convoy, before slinking off ahead. You watched his bright red hair melt into the crowd – and then a great boomerang of green light rocketed off a lamppost, giving you just enough time to scurry down an alleyway and through a chainlink fence.

Loki’s seidr hung heavy in the air, swelling like a thunderstorm. Even as you put one, two, five blocks between yourself and the bank, you could still hearing is humming in your ears; headlights on parked cars would spring to life without prompting; window displays would glow radium-green in your periphery. You had no doubt that Loki was having the time of his life causing a distraction… though you worried what the consequences of too much fun might be if his disguise was discovered.

You kept walking. The city began to recede, thinning out to apartment buildings and stretches of public park lawns. There wasn’t much room to hide out here; you turned a random corner and tried to retrace your steps from a couple of blocks over.

Panic brushed up on you like a hungry stray when another glossy convoy rolled down the road, close enough for you to make out the heavy brow of an enemy agent behind the wheel. You tamped it down and tried to gather your bearings, searching for a street sign – anything that might allow you to collect your bearings. You crossed a road and hurried into an alley; maybe you could climb a fire escape and get to higher ground to await extraction.

A hand closed around your hip, yanking you backwards. You startled, half turning, fists raised to defend yourself, when a staticky sensation licked up your cheek in greeting.

“You’re like a skittish cat,” Loki growled. His fingers pinched the same spot that his seidr had touched you. “Is that what I should call you? Kitten?”

Your heart tripped over itself. “Rude.”

“I can be ruder.”

“Do you know where we are?”

Loki curled, his body one long line of crooked confidence, around you, tipping his head to speak in your ear. “Absolutely no clue.”

“Okay.” The closeness made you a little dumb. You blinked at him, admiring the way the snow caught on his pale eyelashes and didn’t melt. Though his skin felt warm, almost humanly-so, it must have been an illusion. Just one more layer of pretense, like how he and Thor blinked less frequently than normal people, or the strange cadence they adopted when speaking in private. “Do you think your seidr gave you away?”

“Maybe.” 

You weren’t sure why you were whispering. “I hope that disguise of yours is good enough.”

“Not even my soulmate would recognize me, kitten.”

Loki followed you with a hand fisted in the fabric of your coat; the streets were wild, requiring you to dart around passersby at random intervals, and it was safer to stay in pairs than to break off on your own. Occasionally, you thought you caught sight of Steve or Natasha, but neither you nor Loki was willing to stop moving to check. You walked a complicated knot, turning at random, ducking into department stores like every other couple on Christmas Eve. This close, you could hear his seidr rumbling, that tinny sound bouncing off of telephone poles and street lamps in his excitement. 

You eventually found some quiet in a side street a few blocks off the main drag, tucked between two apartment blocks with plenty of exit strategies. You leaned against a short fence, pausing to catch your breath. “You can let go of me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Loki vanished the shopping bags he had been holding in both hands. “I’m not touching you?”

As he blinked back at you, you felt the distinct impression of five warm fingerprints soothing over your lower back. The twinkling sound returned, followed by a humming in your molars that betrayed the presence of magic. “You’re sure about that?”

You expected some snide comment or witty response, but Loki’s head only titled. He raised a finger to his lips; his eyes were narrowed, cast to the side as if to focus. A wave of green light glanced off his hand; the air around you warped and bent like a mirage, just in time for a silver drone to zip by over your heads.

Your breath felt a little thin. “Good catch.”

“I have some decent qualities.” A pause drew on between the two of you. “If we stay like this… we should be able to avoid detection.”

You shifted your weight, leaning ever so slightly away in order to calm your racing heart. This seemed to upset Loki; the phantom hand on your back wriggled, urging you deeper into his personal space.

This close, you had little choice but to admire the shape of him. There was a military poise to him, a rigidness to his shoulders that gave the impression that he was wearing heavy plate-armour and not a wool coat. 

“Why red hair?”

“In your myths, I’m sometimes depicted as a red-head. I might have worn this version once or twice on my excursions as a youth.” He eyed you strangely. “Come now, kitten. Do you like what you see? This new Loki, he’s– sweet. He’ll even hold doors open.”

It was different, definitely – the light hair made him seem softer somehow, younger maybe, and he had topped the disguise off with a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. It sent a secret thrill of delight through your chest when, upon closer examination, you discovered the shape of his soulmark scattered among them. Like fingerprints and tree rings – something innate, a secret coded in his DNA.

“Hmm…” You tried to feign nonchalance. “I think I like my usual Loki better.”

His mouth tipped up in one of those rare smiles, the quiet kind where the creases beside his eyes kissed, the slightest curve of shyness in his slanted brows. His hand, which was trailing a lazy path up and down your forearm, circled your elbow and gave you a squeeze. “Your Loki?”

“Our Loki,” you corrected. “Loki-Loki. You.”

“I could be anything, really. It’s all an illusion.” He drew you in by the sash tying your winter coat shut. You had a sneaking suspicion that, if you wore pigtails, he would be tugging on those too. “You seem to like this version. You certainly talk to it more. So come now, tell me – what is this version of me like? This fair-haired gentleman.”

“He’s nice, I guess.”

Loki nodded, his eyes fixed on your mouth. “I could be nice.”

“Nice?”

“Mhm. I can be anything at all.”

The streetlamps overhead sighed in the presence of magic. Loki’s seidr was a living thing swelling in the space between you; you felt it like a phantom mouth over yours, sliding over your skin, adoring and exotic. It seemed to thrill Loki, who leaned in even closer, his pale eyelashes fluttering, heavy with snowflakes and the weight of an almost-kiss.

“It doesn’t really matter what disguise you wear,” you mumbled, turning your face to the side. A car ambled past the mouth of the alley, digging deep wells in the snow. “You already know you’re hopelessly handsome.”

“Careful now,” Loki said quietly. “It almost sounds like you’re starting to like me.”

You scoffed – understatement of the century. When you gathered the courage to look back at him, Loki was frowning.

“I do like you,” you said quietly.

“You have a very strange way of showing it.”

“I like… how clever you are.”

“I like how I feel when you look at me.” Even in a moment of vulnerability such as this, Loki watched you like a wild animal. His hand walked a lazy path from your elbow up to your bicep. His eyes tracked the entire journey until he reached your shoulder, where his hand flattened and ghosted up the curve of your neck, so the tips of his fingers laid across the highest notches of your spine. A sigh escaped him, unbidden, coloured with a flush of wanting. An ardent sound. “ Ketlinkr… Kome nhér. Kis kis kis kis…” .

Softly, with a tentativeness you didn’t know him capable of, he closed his lips over your bottom one. A great tenderness swept over you; though both of his hands stood still, curved around your sides, a phantom sensation whispered over your neck, your temples, your cheeks, giggling in tiny, electric bursts, as if Loki’s emotions had spilled over and been animated by magic.

“In my most lecherous dreams, as of late, it’s my mark on your neck. Did you know that?” He drew himself closer, a slave to some innate gravity, and pressed his next words into the clammy skin where your pulse thrummed. “Do you ever think of me like that?”

It was half innuendo and half heartbreak. There was attraction, definitely, burning a hole in your skin where his hand was drawing a complicated figure-eight over your shoulder. But beneath that, sticky and nefarious like tar, was a desperation for validation. 

His lips slotted against yours again, firmer this time, at such an angle that the tip of his nose dug into your cheek. Strange magic welled, pooling in the hollow between your ribs – matched, you matched! 

You pulled away without finesse, sputtering. Loki followed as if to silence you, lurching, just missing your mouth to kiss the corner instead. “Wait– wait, stop,” you started.

Loki snatched himself away, his expression tense. “I can be nice. I have been nice, as of late.”

You were still a little fuzzy, disoriented by the kiss; your blood seemed to be rushing backwards, pumped out through your veins and back through your arteries. “What?”

“Do you really loathe me that much? Not even a new face can sway my – my vile image?”

“I feel left out of this conversation. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“You don't look at me.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, vanishing the red from it to wisps of smoke until his natural hair colour returned, startlingly dark against his pale skin. “You turn your face. You find excuses to leave the room. You don’t do that with anyone else.”

You tilted your cheek to hide the heat creeping up under your skin. “I don’t turn away.”

Loki crowded up against you, taking your face between both his hands and manoeuvring you to look him in the eyes, green eyes, the glamour forgotten. Frustration carved a deep line between his brows; he opened his mouth as if to barrel on – before a self-deprecating laugh rushed out of him and he sank back on his heels. “There are hundreds of creatures pouring their love for me through my mailslot and I’m out chasing the one woman who wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not–”

“What’s not fair is that when I’m a perfect gentleman, you look away. No matter what face I put on, or how docile a creature I become, you slink off like you don’t trust me. I’m good. I have a purpose.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove myself? Perhaps you’d prefer it if I prostrated myself on the ground?”

“I don’t not like you. I never didn’t like you.”

“I frighten you.”

“Yes!” You chewed on your lip. “Of course you do.”

He walked you backwards, a dangerous energy roiling in the air between you. Cold brick bit into the small of your back where it brushed the strip between your jacket and your jeans. “I can be anything. I’ve been many things, worn many faces. I’m good at it. Good at pretending. Just tell me how to act.”

“You frighten me because I like you.” You stumbled over your words in a rush. “Because I’m attracted to you.”

The phantom mouth was back; his seidr slid up the column of your throat, whispering a staticky sound just under your ear. “Because you don’t want to be.”

“Because we–” You cut yourself off. For all your waiting, for all the days spent agonising over how you wanted to tell him that you were soulmates - this was not how you wanted it to go. It was a hollow confession. “Because we match.”

His terrible expression stilled. It was a particular cruelty to reveal it in a moment such as this, but what other reason could you have given? It was the truth, plain and simple: you matched. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, then raked the same fingers through his hair. “I see.”

“Loki–”

“Bendr. The Asgardian word for soulmate. It translates to ‘wound’. Our ‘mortal wound’.”

“That’s morbid.”

Loki laughed. It was not a nice sound. “It’s true though, isn’t it? A soulmate is only one more flaw in my armour to have to account for. It– norns, this hurts. ”

Loki drew from thin air a piece of paper. One of the innumerable love letters he’d received, written on green parchment. Crinkled, weakened in the middle from how many times it had been opened and then refolded. 

"What is that?"

"You," he said gravely. "Wrote me a letter."

Your stomach twisted; you had written him a letter, but you were certain you hadn't signed it. It was all complimentary, though maybe a little over-the-top. You'd waxed poetic about his smile, and his sense of humour, and how every time he looked at you you felt like your heart was learning to beat all over again.

“Dear Loki,” he began. “You’re vile.”

It wasn’t a love letter – or at least, it hadn’t had the chance to be. Too embarrassed by your feelings, you’d struggled to put into words anything other than despair. You couldn’t conjure up clauses to any of your statements - you’re vile in a way that makes me laugh. Handsome in a way so infuriating that I can’t help but steal glances. Terribly witty. 

“... I hate the way you make me feel. I hate your mouth, and your hair, and your eyes….”

It wasn’t a love letter, yet Loki had kept it all the same. Folded and unfolded it. Ruminated on your poor opinion of him.

“A cruel joke,” he continued. “I thought you were shy, at first. I thought – I thought, perhaps, that I could charm you with jokes, or with some severe attentiveness. You're so skittish... Maybe I could prove I was worth the hassle, or… Make you see – I’m not sure what. I haven’t changed. I’m exactly the same insecure bastard that I always have been.” He winced. “And then I read your note.”

“I must’ve written a dozen letters.”

“All equally as eloquent, I'm sure.”

“I didn’t mean to send that one. The one I wanted to send was nice.”

He laughed - hollowed out. “We match.” 

“Loki…”

Tires crunched over fresh snow; a dark green jeep pulled up at the end of the alley. Loki took one step sideways, inserting himself in between you and the car, before his shoulders bent and drooped under a sudden weight. Natasha leant out of the driver’s side window, a knitted cap balanced on top of a mop of red curls. “Morning, strangers. You wouldn’t happen to know the way to the airport, would you?”

Strange magic – that's what people said about soulmates. It’s that strange magic. Like disappearing car keys or an extra spoon in the cutlery drawer. It was strange magic that placed that letter in front of Loki. Strange magic that hummed and chewed at you now, watching Loki fold himself into the back of your getaway car. 

Fate wasn’t kind to Loki, and it definitely wasn’t kind to you.

You didn’t leave your room all morning. Curled up in your bed, you traced the photo of Loki’s mark with your fingers and wondered at the mess you’d made. 

Loki had left you a letter the day following your return; he’d made himself scarce after, and seemingly bribed FRIDAY into refusing to disclose his location.

Thor and and I were born with star maps across our backs. On Asgard, this meant that we were destined to fight side-by-side. Thor was born with your Midgardian Ares – the ram. His letter began.

Mine Ours is one of Asgard’s constellations. Canavirna-hundr - the beast. 

He had included a drawing. You weren’t aware that he could draw, but it would later occur to you that he was thousands of years old, and so likely had mastered every art form to exist. A huge creature with sharp ears and the saddest eyes you had ever seen, outlined by the curve of twenty-two dots.

There was a wolf more beautiful than any other. A wolf with fur like seafoam and eyes as black as the darkest night. Hunters from every corner of the galaxy coveted her – but she was quick, too quick for even my father Odin to pursue. He chased her for three days and three nights by following the tracks left by her mate, Canavirna-hundr, a hulking beast too large to ever catch up. But love makes fools of even the most graceful creatures, and she slowed her pace.  

At dawn on the fourth day, when her mate finally fell in step, Odin struck. Blinded by guilt and fear for his beloved, Canavirna-hundr leapt ahead and let the arrow pierce his heart instead of hers. Moved as they were, the gods put him in the sky to watch over her 

The constellation pictured was your soulmark – yours with a capital Y, belonging to you and Loki. Twenty-two dots of varying sizes, the largest at the farthest point on the left.

This was my favourite of the constellations as a child. I fancied myself a hero, to one day be memorialized in the stars next to my brother. I wondered - what would be my legend? When generations referred to Loki, the constellation - would I be exalted for love? 

It doesn’t exist anymore – none of them do. Destroyed by Ragnarok. Like my friend Atlas, I carry a little piece of my planet everywhere I go.  

I’ll stop pretending. Maybe one day I won’t frighten you any longer. 

Yours, 

He didn’t sign his name. But then – he didn’t have to. You would know the impression of him anywhere.

[dontcare77ghj]

Baby Fever

Tony x reader x Steve x Bucky

Parenting Universe

"Mom?"

"Da?"

"Did you ever think about being a mother again after Ohio?" You asked, internally wincing as your mother froze.

"I didn't stop being a mother after we were separated, dorogoy," Melina said, turning towards you as she leaned against the sink. "I spent all my time keeping you girls safe from what Dreykov wanted to do to you all. And then when he was gone, it didn't feel right to fill that hole." She told you. 

"Right." You said slowly, nodding in understanding.

"Besides, I had the pigs. I was busy enough. Why do you ask?" She asked, raising a brow.

"It doesn't matter. It's nothing." You shrugged, focusing on the mug in your hands.

"Don't lie to your mother. She can smell them like bloodhound." Alexi said, entering the kitchen with a bloody bag from the butchers.

"You know me so well." Melina smiled, patting Alexi on the cheek as she took the bag from him. "And yet you never remember the wine." She tsked, moving towards the fridge.

"Ah, not this time!" Alexi exclaimed, pulling a bottle of red wine from behind his back.

"If that was from your pants, I'm not drinking it." You were quick to say.

"Oh hush, is still good." Melina waved you off, kissing Alexi as she took the bottle. "Now, out with it. Why the baby talk? You're not pregnant. Is Peter pregnant?"

"Mama, Peter's a boy."

"I know that I can see, dorogoy, but we don't know all his spider powers, do we?"

"Oh my God, Mom, Peter is not pregnant!" You hid your face in your hands, wishing your sisters would hurry up and get here. "I only asked because the boys and I were talking about maybe adopting another." You admitted with a sigh.

"That's fantastic! Melina, we're going to be grandparents again!" Alexi exclaimed, rushing to pull you into his chest.

"Nothing's set in stone yet, Dad." You groaned as your lungs started to collapse.

"Why not? Malysh, Y/N." He whined.

"We're trying to work things out, Dad. We've still got to ask Peter, and work out logistically how it would work with work, and" You started to explain, only for Melina to wave you off.

"Oh, you think too much. You don't have to think about children. You have children. You have other children. It is life." 

"You know we were all technically abducted from an orphanage, right?" You asked, raising a brow.

"The point is life happens, and sometimes you don't have time to think it through," Melina told you.

"Yes, life happens, roll with punches, all good. Now hurry up and decide your mother and I are getting old. We want to meet the new grandbaby. We want to see great-grandbabies. We want to see it all." Alexi said with a clap.

"Great-grandbaby? Is Peter pregnant?" Yelena exclaimed, entering the room with Natasha behind her.

"Someone kill me." You groaned, smacking your head against the table.

"This feels like an intervention." Tony sighed, slipping into a seat beside Bucky.

"You would know." You snorted, sipping your smoothie.

"In all fairness, the last one did work." Bucky pointed out, wrapping his arm around Tony's waist. "He hasn't had raw cookie dough in seven months."

"I miss it."

"Seriously, Tony?" Steve sighed, lifting your legs and placing them on his lap when he sat.

"Oh, lighten up, med." You said, offering the blonde your smoothie as FRIDAY announced Peter's arrival.

"Underoos, take a seat," Tony said, nodding to the bean bag you'd placed before the four of you.

"Okay, if this is about the putty arrows, it was entirely Clint's fault," Peter said, raising his hands innocently. "I told him not to do it. I told him it would piss off people, and he made me help. I am very susceptible to peer pressure,"

"Okay, I am going to stop you right there," Tony said, holding up a hand. "This isn't about the arrows, though we are gonna circle back to that later,"

"And talk about peer pressure," Steve added, causing Peter to groan.

"No more Rappin' with Cap. I've seen enough." Peter complained, collapsing onto the beanbag. "Okay, if it's not the arrows, what did I do wrong this time?"

"Why do you just assume you're in trouble?" You cocked your head.

"Because this feels like an intervention."

"What did I say?" 

"Don't yell in my ear, Tones."

"You don't kill people you love. You don't kill people you love. You don't kill people you love." You muttered to yourself, rubbing the space between your eyes as the two continued to argue.

"Getting back on topic," Steve said, causing Bucky and Tony to fall silent. "We just want to get your opinion on something, and we want you to be completely honest with us."

"Honest like we are about Mama's driving, or honest like we are Dad's cooking?"

"You're grounded."

"What's wrong with my cooking?"

"The driving one, kiddo." Bucky chuckled. 

"We have been talking, the four of us, and we would like to expand this family. Our family." Steve explained, watching Peter's face carefully.

"You want to have a baby?" Peter gasped. "Wait, no. That doesn't make sense." He said after a second thought.

"Med, we're thinking of adopting." You told the teen.

"And, just for clarity, bud, it's not happening yet," Bucky spoke.

"Yeah, right now, we're just laying the groundwork, seeing what happens." Tony nodded. "And your opinion matters here, so be honest, you know,"

"I'd get to be a big brother?" Peter cut Tony off, looking between the four of you with glassy eyes.

"If that's what you want, of course, med." You nodded.

"I'm gonna be a big brother!" Peter screamed, launching from the beanbag and towards you and Steve. The teen wrapped his arms around both your necks, squeezing you both tightly before moving on to do the same to Tony and Bucky.

"I take it you're okay with this?" Bucky clarified as Tony fake choked.

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed, pulling away. "Are we thinking boy? Girl? Twins? Triplets? Oh! I could make them a suit." He gasped. "I love you guys! I'm really excited, but I gotta call Ned!" He said, blowing kisses before turning on his heel and rushing from the room.

"Well, I guess we have Pete's approval." You smiled, hearing the sound of his door slamming shut.

"See, there was nothing to worry about," Tony said, rising to a stand. "This calls for a celebratory drink, but since I'm sober, who wants coffee?"

"Nat, I need a drink." You huffed, falling face-first onto Natasha's couch.

"You need to get your feet off my couch," Natasha said, wacking your legs with a magazine. "Who raised you and Lena?"

"Murderers." You said, shfting to sit upright.

"Why are you moping? Why are you moping on my floor? I'm trying to watch my movie." Natasha sighed.

"Well, I can't mope in my room because Steve's doing some mindfulness meditation yoga bullshit that's making me question my marriage to him in there." You said, running your hand over your face. "And Tony's hiding in the lab, and Bucky took Pete to the Lego store, so you're all I've got."

"Alright. Alright." Natasha said, pausing her movie to turn to you. "What happened?" 

"We got another rejection letter." You sighed, letting your head hit the back of the couch. "No one wants us to adopt."

"Well, that's bullshit. Why?" Natasha asked, moving towards her drinks cart.

"One wouldn't take us because of Tony's past, another for me and Buck's, a lot said no because we're poly, and there's a few that won't take us because we're avengers." You told your sister as she poured two drinks.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." She said, handing you your drink. 

"To be fair a lot of people are dead because of me."

"Oh yes, terrorists and murderers. A lot of human traffickers on that list as well."

"Nat,"

"What have we talked about?" Natasha cut you off, taking your free hand. "C'mon, say it."

"For as much bad as we've done, we're trying to do the same good." You sighed, trying to believe your words meant something.

"Look, every reason they have listed is bullshit, and I'm surprised Tony's not suing to be honest," Natasha told you.

"Steve's handling the lawyers." You said before downing your drink. The burn a familiar and comforting feeling.

"It's probably for the best." Natasha hummed. "I don't get it. There weren't this many problems with Pete."

"We were his legal guardians. May made it very clear in her will." You shook your head. "According to the lawyers, it would have been a lot harder without that."

"Look, Y/N, you guys are great parents, which is surprising given how you all grew up,"

"Buck and Steve had stable childhoods."

"As stable as it could have been in the forties, sure." Natasha amended. "But you four are good parents. Peter loves you, and you are doing better than your best to keep him alive and in school. There are other adoption agencies, and any kid would be lucky to have the five of you."

"Thanks. I love you, Nat." You said, leaning over to hug your sister.

"Love you too," Natasha said, patting your back. "You want to get drunk and watch the rest of this with me?"

"God, yes."

"I'm ready to just call it a year." Bucky sighed, laying his head on your lap. 

"It's March, med." You reminded the brunette as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

"It's been March for six years." He groaned.

"I know." You sighed. "You think either of them are going to come down for lunch?"

"Steve was still on the phone with the lawyers when I checked." Bucky shook his head. "He was starting on the risking our lives tangent so he'll be a while."

"Tony had three cars pulled apart when I went to check on him." You said, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. 

"Married life. You feel the bliss yet?" Bucky asked, causing you to chuckle.

"Well, I think it's too late to leave ya, so I must love you lot."

"Mom? Pops?" Bucky pulled himself upright and the two of you turned to see Peter hovering in the doorway.

"Hey, bud. I thought you were out with Ned." Bucky said, gesturing for the teen to come in.

"I was, but it looks like he got what his sister had last week because he upchucked halfway through the movie," Peter said, settling onto the recliner beside the couch.

"Hm, lovely." You wrinkled your nose.

"Yeah, but at least it wasn't on my lap this time, like when we went to Coney Island. So, that's something." Peter shrugged as Bucky chuckled.

"Your Dad wasn't exactly thrilled to have you in the car after that one." 

"Well, I'd let you into my car, but I wouldn't be thrilled." You told the teen.

"Your Ma doesn't like vomit." Bucky teased.

"No, I don't. And I'll thank you to keep that to yourself. I don't need terrorists finding that out and vomiting on me." You shuddered, poking Bucky's side before turning to Peter. "Well, since you're home, you want to have lunch with us?"

"Yeah, sure. Are Dad and Pa going to join us?" Peter wondered.

"I don't think so, bud," Bucky said after hesitating. Peter frowned at the words but didn't say anything.

"Pete, everything okay?"

"I wanted to ask, is everything okay?" Peter asked, causing you and Bucky to share a look.

"What do you mean, dorogoy?"

"It's just that it's been a while since we talked about you guys adopting, and nothing's happened, but you seem upset," Peter said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Come sit, kid," Bucky said, shifting and patting the space between the two of you. Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Peter relaxed into your side.

"There are just a few people who aren't exactly keen to let us adopt, but it's alright, it's just a couple of setbacks. We're working through it." Bucky explained, placing his hand on yours.

"I'm sorry." Peter frowned

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Pete. It's not your fault." You promised, squeezing the teen's shoulder.

"I know, but I know that you wanted this," Peter said, looking between you both. "I know you wanted a family."

"We have a family, and we love our family." You promised, kissing the side of his head. "Having another child was just an idea." You added, sharing a sad look with Bucky.

"Yeah, just a thought. But we're pretty happy with how things are right now." Bucky told the teen, pulling him into a side hug. 

"You know what? I am going to get the boys. Family lunch, no excuses." You said, jumping to a stand and rushing from the room.

When you were safely in the elevator, and the doors closed behind you, you allowed yourself to curl in on yourself and let out a half-sob.

It was just an idea.

Life continued to move on. Six months later, you, Tony, Steve and Bucky came to an uneasy acceptance of the situation and, for the most part, put it behind you.

You had the Avengers, your family, Peter, and each other and that was all that mattered.

And unfortunately for you all, the world still needed your help.

"Spider-Man, I swear if you jump in front of another bullet, you are so grounded." Tony snapped over the coms. "I'm too young to have another heart attack."

"It's not my fault. I'm trying to neutralize like you asked me to. I didn't ask to be shot at." Peter snarked, causing laughter to be heard over the gunfire as Tony gasped.

"Sass back! Oh, you are so grounded!"

"If you two are done, I found an exposed vent. I'm going in." You interrupted the two.

"Exposed? That sounds risky, doll." Steve worried.

"Oh, it wasn't exposed before now, don't worry." You said, shimming into the hole you'd created.

"Oh yeah, because blowing a hole in the wall is real subtle." You could just hear Tony rolling his eyes.

"Unlike you, Tones, I don't blow holes in walls." You said, slowly crawling through the vent.

"Damn, Stark, what did you get up to in your playboy days?" 

"Y/N, there's a heat signiture coming from your left." Bruce spoke, watching through FRIDAY and guiding people where he could.

"You see anything weird up there, all knowing one?" You asked, turning left.

"It's a small heat signiture if that counts." Bruce said as you came up to a grate. You kept just behind the vent for a moment, trying to hear if anyone was outside, but when you heard nothing, you ventured to peak through the mesh.

"There's a lot of blankets out there." You frowned, seeing nothing else in the sparse room. 

"Maybe it's just a rat." Steve suggested as you watched a blanket move and something peek out.

"Oh shit." You swore, quickly pulling the vent free and jumping to the ground.

"What, you scared of a little rat, Y/N?" Clint teased as you knelt down. 

"Shut the fuck up, Barton." You swore, staring unblinking at the bundle before you. "I'm gonna need medical and some help in here." 

"Y/N, what happened?"

"On my way, Mama."

"Speak to us, Y/N."

"There's a baby here. A live one." You said as the baby before you started to cry.

"Live?"

"There's a lot that aren't." You said, reaching out to pull the baby into your arms and shield them from the sight. "Someone's gonna have to call Xavier. I think these were all mutant children." You said, brushing tears from the baby's blue skin.

"I'll handle it," Bruce assured you as you started to bounce the baby soothingly.

"It's okay, malen'kiy. You're safe. I have you." You hushed, fixing the blanket with one hand. "No one I don't know is coming through that door, okay? Anyone bad tries to touch you again, and I will shoot them." You promised.

"It's not what you say to a baby, Y/N."

The baby let out a snuffling sound as it reached a hand from the blanket and rested it on your collarbone.

And for the first time in so many years, you wereactually surprised at what happened next.

"Holy fuck."

"The files definitely indicate female at birth," Tony said, placing the manilla back on the table. "So we can stop calling her it."

"FRIDAY, did the files help turn up on any living family?" You asked as Bucky played got your nose with the baby in your hold.

"No boss spider." FRIDAY replied. "I found the death certificates for an Elijiah, Mila and Raven Darkholme as well as the burial plots for Elijiah and Mila."

"I'm going with they faked Raven's death certificate." Bucky commented.

"I have also concluded the same for the six other children found today." FRIDAY informed you all.

"I hate HYDRA." Peter shivered, looking down to Raven who had taken his thumb and was getting salivia all over it.

"Well the social worker said she can stay with us until they find a home to take her." Steve said, reentering the room. "She said it might take longer than normal."

"What? Why?"

"There's not a lot of orphanages for mutants, Pete." You said, smiling when the baby made her hair look like yours.

"Yeah, unsurprisingly she had space until I mentioned that part." Steve shook his head, sitting on the coffee table before you. "Doesn't Charles have space for her?" 

"Wheels doesn't have a space for babies yet," Tony said, reaching out to take the baby from you. "You're holding her wrong."

"We'll have to order some supplies." You commented, laughing when Raven copied Tony's goatee.

"How are we supposed to know how much we need in supplies?" Bucky asked, looking to Steve, who frowned.

"Depends on how much the social worker was exaggerating." Steve scowled.

"So, she just goes into the system?" Peter asked, causing you all to turn to him. "Into a home where there's no one like her? Where she may not even get adopted?" He clenched his fists.

"Pete," Tony started, stepping closer.

"It's not fair, Dad." Peter shook his head. 

"We know, dorogoy." You said, reaching out to take his hand. "That's why they want her to stay here until they can find her a home with other mutants. So she doesn't grow up alone."

"Why can't you take her?" Peter asked, causing the four of you to look between each other.

"We can't just claim a child, Peter." Steve shook his head. "She's not a lost pen."

"No, but you could adopt her. Like you did me."

"Pete,"

"She deserves a family who'll love her, and you've always made me feel loved."

"Aw, kiddo."

"And you know she wouldn't be alone in this family. We're all different kinds of different."

"Well, you do eat cereal on the ceiling."

"And I would be the best big brother. I'll teach her to love Star Wars, the perfect amount of butter to put on popcorn, and I'll teach her all the best ways to avoid FRIDAY for when she's a teenager."

"You know, you were doing real great until you got to that, right?"

"You took me in when I had no family left, and you gave me a family. Why can't we give that to her?" Peter asked, smiling when Raven let out a coo.

For a moment, you all stayed silent. Contemplating Peter's words before,

"You know I don't go to church much anymore, but ma would call this a blessing." Steve commented. "She would call her a little blessing." He nodded to the baby in Tony's arms.

"No matter where she goes, HYDRA will be after her." Bucky murmured, placing his hands under his chin. "We could keep her safe. Try to give her a childhood that they can't take from her."

"Buck." Tony gently handed Peter Raven as he sat beside Bucky, wrappping his arms around the super-soldier.

"Dad? What do you think?" Peter asked, adjusting his hold on Raven.

"I think she grows a better beard than you do, and you're almost seventeen." Tony was quick to quip.

"Dad,"

"Look, this is what we wanted, right? To give you a sibling? To expand our family? Why are we looking the gifthorse in the mouth?" Tony shook his head. "I say we take the chance. It may be our last one."

"Mama?" Peter turned to you.

"When I got out of the Red Room, I knew I could never have children after what they did to us. And I didn't think after all we've done, that I deserved any." You admitted, staring at the wall behind Peter's head, where a photo from your last beach trip hung proudly.

"Mama,"

"But you changed my mind." You said, looking to Peter with a smile. "You are my child, and I would burn the world down if you asked me to, and as soon as that little girl looked at me with those same trusting eyes, I knew I would do the same for her."

"Y/N?"

"Call the lawyers in the morning. They can start making arrangments." You smiled, reaching out to take Raven from Peter. "I guess this is welcome home, malen'kiy."

"Y/N!"

"Be quiet, Alexi!"

"Don't hit, Melina! Yelena, you see the abuse your mother heaps on me?"

"Please get him to lower everything." You sighed, looking to the bedroom door.

"Why? He's your father." Tony smirked, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Your father-in-law. I didn't have a choice, you had a choice." You said, leaning into the hold.

"You love him."

"I love him, but if he wakes Raven, I will kill him." You promised, causing Tony to chuckle.

"Go, I got this." Tony said, kissing you before heading towards the sound of your other family.

It had been two months since that fateful day you had found Raven and your family had been completed. Surprisingly, everything had gone smoothly with the adoption.

Your heart hurt to think of the children like Raven who were struggling to find a home, so you, along with the Avengers were working with Charles Xaviers school to make this less of a reality.

And now you were free to watch your children together and only allow yourself to feel happiness.

Both your children lived in rooms down the hall from you, Peter a little further down because no mater how much you soundproofed his room, sometimes he could still hear the four of you.

And while you were happy that meant you'd always hear Raven cry, you worried that Pete would still have to to.

As you neared Raven's room, you heard a familiar sniffling but before you could enter the room intent on drying your daughters tears, you heard something that made your heart swell.

"It's alright." Peter cooed. "Dedushka is pretty loud, but he makes up for it with pretty great hugs. Babushuka's probably already warned him to be careful with you, so you don't have to worry about crushed ribs." You peaked around the doorway to see Peter holding Raven and making faces at her.

Raven let out a laugh as she attached her hands to Peter's face, taking on his hair and eye color.

"You know, I don't like loud things either, but we'll talk to Dad, and he'll be able to make something for you like he did for me." Peter said, bouncing back and forth. "Did you know our family are superheroes? Yeah! They save the world. They saved you and they saved me too in a way. And you know what, this family is never going to let anything happen to you.

We're really lucky, you and me. We got picked by the best family because no matter what we do, they're always gonna love us. And I meant it when I promised to be the best big brother. You are never going to hate me a day in your life, and I am always going to be here."

Peter finished his speech by pressing a kiss to Raven's hairline, causing her to flash him a big gummy smile.

"Should we tell Mama we know she's in the doorway?" Peter asked, turning to face you with a smirk. "You're slipping, Mama."

"Not a spy here." You shook your head. "Just a very happy mother." You smiled, walking over to embrace your children. "I love you, Pete."

"Love you too, mama."

"And I love you, malen'kiy, but I do have to make you suffer through your dedushka." You spoke to Raven in a high pitched tone.

"You love dedushka." Peter accused as the two of you made your way to the living room.

"I do, but it's fun to tease him." 

Remember, all Taglists are open, as are requests. Taglists include the main taglist, individual characters, all male/female, and venom stories.

Taglist

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Tony Stark Taglist

@mxxmochaa

[infiniteeight8]

I don't know if you are familer with this trope but:

Guide and Senital ironstrange

Anon, not only am I familiar with this trope, I wrote the tumblr post that quite a few people have used to explain it. 😀

I can actually rationalize Stephen and Tony in either role, but I decided to go with the most obvious (to me, anyway) version. This time, anyway! 

This is also a “Sentinels and Guides are known” style AU.

-

Tony tries very, very hard not to use his senses at all. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want them. He may have issues, but they aren’t those particular issues. He’d be happy to lean into those genetic advantages if, in his case, they outweighed the risks. Which they don’t. Three Sentinel and Guide centers (his local California Center first, then the California State Center, then the New York Center) all agree that Tony is, quote, “unusually susceptible to zone outs.” 

Which more or less means that damn near anything can tip him into one, and damn near nothing can get him out of one. Pepper, despite being so weak a Guide she only just registers on the test, is the best at getting him out of them. Given a quiet place and about half an hour undisturbed, she can get him back about half the time. The rest of the time, there’s nothing to do but wait. He usually comes out of a zone after four or five hours. Usually.

Once, he had to be put into care in the S&G Center for three days.

No one enjoys that, least of all Tony. So he does his best not to give his brain the opportunity to hyperfocus, and he meets the Guides the Center sends to match with him, and he tries not to envy the Sentinels who can snap out of a zone with a few words from the right person. 

Unfortunately, Tony’s work regularly involves intense focus on very small objects. Soldering a circuit board is legitimately dangerous for him, but like hell he’s going to give the job to someone else, especially when it concerns the armor. He tells himself that even when FRIDAY warns him against such work while Pepper is out of town.

The tiny…

…details… 

…swallow… 

…him.

.

.

The low rumble of a voice. A warm hand holding his, trembling faintly. The scent of tea and dust and something like but unlike ozone. It’s the scent that Tony follows back into the world. Blinking, Tony carefully straightens up from where he was hunched over his work bench. He doesn’t feel sore, which is unusual.

“Tony?”

Tony turns to find Stephen Strange sitting next to him, eyebrows knitted in concern. Tony clears his throat, but it doesn’t feel dry. “Yeah, I’m here. How long was I out?”

FRIDAY answers, “Fifteen minutes. With Ms. Potts out of town, I considered calling the S&G Center, but Doctor Strange is a registered Guide and I decided he was more likely to respond quickly.”

“You did good, FRIDAY,” Tony reassures her automatically, and then really registers her words. He turns to Strange. “You got me back in fifteen minutes?”

“More like ten, once I got here,” Strange says. “I’m sorry, it shouldn’t take that long.”

“That long?” Tony laughs. “Strange, that’s the fastest anyone has ever gotten me out of zone out in my entire life. That’s assuming they even can get me back. Are you bonded? Tell me you’re not bonded.”

Strange lets out an incredulous huff of laughter and shakes his head. “I’m not bonded,” he says. “And to anticipate your next question, yes, I’m amenable to a courtship.”

“Amenable,” Tony snorts, but he’s smiling. “Fantastic. FRIDAY, is there paperwork? If there is, get it started.”

Strange looks bemused, but in a good way, like he’s enjoying the ride. It’s a good sign, Tony decides.

[ccalhoun]

≻ ┄┄ ♡ ┄┄ ≺

steve rogers x m!reader x clint barton oneshot

wc: 1.3k

request: black widow's newest mission is having to protect her younger brother from the amorous advances of her male comrades. there's varying levels of success, but she notices how her brother seems most susceptible to steve and clint's charm - randomnamenottaken on wattpad

warnings: male reader, reader can be read as cis or trans, reader is natasha's younger brother, reader has similar/the same training as natasha, flirting, [name] used, kind of fanboy!reader, slight steve x clint i couldn't help myself, its a bit implied that clint and steve are together, possibly ooc characters (i haven't rewatched the mcu in awhile, apologies)

note: also, sorry for the unplanned hiatus! my computer broke and i got a new one recently. i finally have some spare time so i decided to finish some requests!! i kinda rushed it/ended it suddenly because i felt bad about taking so long, sorry!

i'm a bit rusty in writing fanfic, any and all criticism is very appreciated

cut for length!

you hesitantly walked into the avenger's tower, sticking closely to your sister's side. you were anxious about what the avengers would think of you. what if they don't like you? what if they kick you out despite needing you on a mission? your mind was racing with thoughts, though you were quickly snapped out of it by natasha's voice. not even realizing you were already at the door of the room where the avengers were. your entire future in one room.

"hey," natasha snapped in front of your face and finally got your attention, sighing in relief when you seemed to come back down to earth. "finally," she sighed, "in that room are the avengers, and the avengers are gross men who flirt with anything that has a pulse. last time i checked, you have a pulse, so," natasha sighed again before regaining her composure, "just be careful, ok?"

you nodded curtly before nat opened the door. you tried to act confident but the second the avengers turned to look at you, you felt like a deer in headlights. tony stood up when you entered, walking up to your place beside natasha and smiling charmingly at you.

"hello, mr. romanoff," tony practically purred out, taking your hand in his and almost kissing your knuckles before a soft hit to the side of his head made him drop your hand. he looked to his side only to be met with the sight of natasha staring angrily at him.

"get your hands off him, tony," nat snapped, tony took the very obvious sign and dropped your hand as he stepped back. "everyone this is my brother, he is off limits. none of you are good enough for him," she said blankly. it's not that she didn't like any of the avengers, she just didn't think they were good enough for you.

"nat it's fine, i can take care of myself," you whisper-yelled at natasha. who would want the avengers, the people who have saved the world multiple times, to think you can't protect yourself?

"you hear that? he's fine with my flirting!" tony said happily, trying to take your hand in his again before you shot your hand away from his.

"just because i can stick up for myself doesn't mean i liked your flirting," you tried to sound as confident as you could but you were talking to the tony stark, how could you not be nervous? "i'm not interested in you," you finished and were surprised when the room erupted in laugher.

"jeez tony, not everyone is as obsessed with you as you are." you heard the joking voice of steve rogers, captain america, say. you froze in place at the realization that you were about to meet captain america and stood dumbfounded at the thought. sure enough, captain america stood in front of you with his arm out in front of him to shake your hand. you quickly shook his hand as you internally freaked out.

"sorry about my friend's advances, [name], right? or should i call you mr. romanoff?" steve's voice was soft and respectful, caring in a way. you stared in awe at the much taller man before realizing he asked you a question.

"you can call me [name]," you stuttered out, failing at hiding how nervous you really were at the moment. steve nodded and smiled, releasing your hand before speaking again.

"i'm steve rogers, though you probably already know who i am based on your reaction," steve let out a small chuckle after his lighthearted teasing, giving you a small smile and shaking your hand gently, you didn't seem like the kind to enjoy firm handshakes.

"i assume you also know my colleagues but it would be impolite to not introduce you," he moved to the side of you as he started pointed to the members in the room, "that's thor, he's a god so i'd be careful around him. that's bruce banner, the hulk, he can help you with anything science related. that's clint, hawkeye, he can seem distant but he's the best guy on the team when it comes to anything you need. you've already met tony so i won't bother with him," steve let out a chuckle after the last bit, seeming to have a friendly rivalry with the brunette.

"thank you," you stuttered out, steve rogers, the captain america was talking to you! it was a dream come true! you were led to an empty chair, in between clint and where steve was sitting a few minutes prior. steve attempted to take a seat, being shoved by nat so she could sit next to you.

"nice try, rogers," she said playfully before shifting her attention to tony and bruce as they started talking about the mission that would take place in about a week. it was hard to focus, noticing the "secret" glances from steve and clint, they'd look to you and then each other as if they were having a conversation of sorts.

after the meeting, clint and steve caught up to you and natasha as you walking around the tower. tony was nice enough to give you a temporary room in the tower as you stayed for the mission and if you were lucky enough, a permanent place to stay with the avengers.

"hey steve, hey clint!" you chirp happily, waving at the two boys. they briefly wave back before seeing natasha's glare, and suddenly her warning was at the front of their minds.

"we just wanted to welcome [name] to the team, even if its only for a few weeks," clint quickly covered up, in truth him and steve were coming so they could ask you on a date of sorts, you caught both of their attention, they both found you interesting in the way they wanted to get to know more about you.

"oh, thank you, i'm happy to be here!" you said, natasha didn't buy it, she had a gut feeling that they had different intentions.

"let's get going [name], we need to be well rested. you boys should probably sleep too," natasha rushed out. it's not that she didn't trust her friends, it's just that you were her baby brother and you'll always be a baby to her!

"you're right," you said before focusing back on the two men in front of you, "goodnight clint, goodnight steve! see you in the morning," you smiled before turning back to your sister and resuming the walk to your room.

once you got to your room nat wished you goodnight, giving you a hug before going to her own room. you thought back on the day as you showered and changed, you met the avengers and two of them went out of their way to talk to you! you were buzzing with happiness, it was hard to fall asleep after a day like that! eventually after an hour of so of laying in bed you fell asleep soundly.

the next morning you were in the kitchen looking for food when you heard footsteps approaching, they seemed relaxed and fluid so you weren't worried about being ambushed. just as you thought, clint and steve walked in, stopping their conversation when they saw you. you could hear the last half of it, something about a weird dream clint had. you waved before deciding on making cereal.

"oh, [name], we meant to ask you this yesterday, would you be interested in dinner with me and steve? thor and bruce might come but that's a big might," clint said as he was opening the fridge.

"sure, when? can you pass me the milk please?" you answered, following up with the simple favor as you had poured a small bowl of cereal as you listened.

"tonight, 07:00? if that works for you," clint passed the almost empty jug of milk, "sorry about that, i guess thor got here before us," he joked.

"07:00 works, thanks," you poured the cereal and grabbed a spoon before heading back to your room, acting cool as if you hadn't just been asked to join dinner with some of the avengers.

≻ ┄┄ ♡ ┄┄ ≺

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2023 marathon: 12-15

Rope (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1948)

Brandon and Philip do everything together: share aesthetic philosophies, go on road trips, and commit thrill kills in their living room. After strangling a classmate, they hide the body in a chest. They also happen to be throwing a dinner party that night. The thrill of possibly being caught excites Brandon, but Philip is on the verge of a breakdown all night. And when their old prep school headmaster Rupert shows up and starts to notice their combined strange behavior, matters grow potentially deadly.

I watched this one with my grandmother, who had never even heard of it before. She ended up really liking it, which made me happy because I think Rope is Hitchcock's most underrated film. Hitchcock himself dismissed the movie as a failed experiment. The central gimmick is that the film appears to be shot in a single take, lending the story the sense that it's all unfolding in real time. It's not a seamless illusion, but it is effective, so sorry Hitchcock, you're wrong.

Rope is a great companion piece to Dial M for Murder. Both are based on plays and both feature debonair, egomaniacal killers who seem more excited about the plotting of their crimes than any material benefit they could get from them. (Someone please write a crossover where Tony and Brandon compete to commit the best perfect crime ever. Like that is the fanfic content I want!)

Jeopardy (dir. John Sturges, 1953)

Doug and Helen are an ordinary American couple vacationing in Mexico with their young son Bobby. They go to a remote fishing spot to picnic. The pro of this spot is its nostalgic quality for Doug. The con is that its remoteness is inconvenient when you get trapped under heavy ass timber just as the tide's coming in... which happens to Doug. With only four hours to save him from drowning, Helen drives off to find help. Instead she gets kidnapped by Lawson, an escaped criminal who isn't shy about murdering people. He's uninterested in helping Doug, so Helen has to find a way to either escape her captivity or manipulate Lawson into helping her before it's too late.

What an underrated thriller! I mainly watched it for Barbara Stanwyck, but Jeopardy is a great suspense film with a fiendishly simple set-up. It's the perfect example of writing advice I once received about how to deal with writer's block: just keeping making your main character's life worse. Got a husband about to drown? How about being kidnapped by an escaped criminal while you're trying to get help?

It runs at just 69 minutes and not a second of that runtime is dull. I had planned on only watching half of the movie before going to bed because it was very late, but I was so wrapped up in it that I said "Screw it" to getting a good night's sleep.

Stanwyck is of course amazing. Her character Helen is written as a terrified housewife susceptible to "hysteria" (hello casual 1950s sexism), but she's actually pretty crafty. Stanwyck plays her as a fighter and even when her captor gets the upperhand, you can see in her eyes that she's scrambling for the next potential escape plan.

The best scenes are between Helen and Lawson. There's both an antagonism and undeniable sexual tension between them from the start. When she seduces him in a shack, she starts lounging about and puffing at her cigarette like her character Phyllis Dietrichson in Double Indemnity, which is both funny and awesome. In addition, it's ambiguous how into Lawson Helen exactly is. You could say she seriously considers running away with him once he helps her husband out, but the opposite might be true as well.

In this kind of story, it would be easy to make the husband a wet rag in comparison to the attractive villain, but Doug is super likable, keeping a cheerful face on his increasingly hopeless situation, and his attempts to keep his son calm and optimistic are truly touching. And that just adds to the suspense-- you don't want to see that guy drown, even if Lawson is also charming and charismatic.

And hot. Cannot deny, Ralph Meeker is super hot in this, like holy shit. He's got some definite Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire vibes going on.

Also this promotional image of Stanwyck and her two male co-stars cracks me up. It's the polar opposite of the film's actual tone.

The Sealed Room (dir. DW Griffith, 1909)

In an unspecified century in an unspecified country, an unspecified king finds out his mistress is having an affair with the court minstrel. What's worse, they have their trysts in a hidden room the king likes using as his love cave. He decides to brick the two up alive, just as a gotcha.

The Sealed Room is one of my favorite nickelodeon era movies. It's got a great Poe-themed story, enjoyably hammy acting (the king makes so many reaction image worthy faces and poses, I just CAN'T--), and a pretty sophisticated use of composition and space that emphasizes the claustrophobic terror inherent in the premise.

This movie also features a great example of what I often call "silent movie logic." It's those scenes where something happens that would technically make a hell of a lot of noise but other characters don't notice and most of the time, I don't notice unless I think about it too hard. But in this case, it's hard to miss-- the king's servants start bricking up the exit to the hidden room while the mistress and the minstrel are like five feet away. Those servants are either very good at their job or the lovers are too horny to pay attention to anything else.

It Follows (dir. David Robert Mitchell, 2014)

When high school girl Jay loses her virginity at the end of a date, she expects her life to change. And it does-- but not in the way she expects. Her date tells her he's just passed on a curse to her-- a mysterious figure will follow her around until it gruesomely kills her and the only way to get it off her trail is to transmit the curse to someone else via sex. Terrified and hurt, Jay and her friends try to find a way to stop the monster permanently.

It Follows had so much hype around it back in 2014. It was the horror movie du jour, with everyone praising the hell out of its old-school vibe and intriguing premise.

I'm sad to say I was underwhelmed. The premise IS cool, as well as a fun meta commentary on the traditional sexual politics of the slasher genre, and the lead actress Maika Monroe is very good as the soulful young Jay. I was never really scared though-- and if you're a regular of this blog, then you know it's not because I don't like slow-burn horror. I love it, especially when there's a bare minimum of crappy jump scares. This one just felt meandering, slow for the sake of resembling artsier classics of cinematic horror, and I lost interest halfway through. Even the monster ceased to creep me out by the end.

And that makes me sad, because I loved the score and the atmosphere of the film. There's a weird out of time quality to it-- the score is very 80s synth, characters watch old horror movies on the TV (Jay and her date even go to see Charade at a movie theater), and there isn't much in the way of teens staring at their phones (though one of Jay's friends has a cool clam-shaped e-reader). However, I just could not get into the story. It just lacked that extra something to make me love it. Or maybe I just wasn't in the proper mood.

I don't know. It could very well be a "me" problem.

[wintersmoldr]

ok so how can you interact with bucky? he lives in indiana and he's a lil scurry. what even does he do during the day? well, read on to find out some things that can jump start interactions!

you need to hide. fairly straightforward--you don't want to be found? bucky's very good at disappearing from the public eye. in fact, he has a whole business now centered around helping people escape their past lives.

you need someone/something found. the reverse of the first one--did someone vanish? did some very important property get stolen? bucky's very good at tracking things down through his various networks and reacquiring whatever was lost. this can also include digging up some info on someone/something too.

you need a captain america. so this one might take a little bit of push back, i mean, there are two other captain americas out there. and a whole network who really love that red, white, and blue look. do you really need him? he'll eventually help, sans cap costume.

you need an avenger (reserve). ok, again, yeah he technically fits the bill but are you sure you weren't thinking of iron man? or thor? bucky doesn't even have an identicard, he's barely a real avenger on this front. but sure, he'll help however he can?

you've got some supernatural problems. after his brief run with the strikeforce team, he kind of swore off touching the supernatural stuff. doesn't mean the supernatural stuff agreed tho. he doesn't have a ton of experience here, but his level head and scrappy fighting do tend to make him helpful. especially if your supernatural thing is susceptible to C4.

you are lost in the middle of nowhere. there are literally corn fields for miles, you are lost, no doubt. but do you call bucky for a ride, directions, or keeping company on this several-miles-of-corn trip.

you did an oops and need help getting life turned around. oops could be anything from like, accidental murder, joining a cult or bad guy organization, getting a little in too deep over your head. either way, bucky excels in getting people out of a tough situation and into something more mundane for themselves.

you'd like to see the chickens, please. so he has a farm. a big farm. there's horses, a few goats, a dog named marty, alpine and the candy shop (aka a mess of other cats), and of course: the chickens. stop by for an afternoon of chores animal fun!

you're there to see tony but he's not available at the moment for whatever reason so you get bucky instead. you need iron man? well it's funny you should ask, he's not here right now, can bucky take a message? awkwardly talk to you on the porch? tell you 'no, that's dumb, build your own tech' because his husband won't?

[doll-elvis]

re: mindi miller, she stated in an interview with ostjysk tv that elvis was concerned about how fans might react if they knew who mindi had dated previously. she relays this in the kindest possible way; i believe she understands him very well, is very protective of him still, and grants him enormous grace for the weight of things he suffered due to low self-esteem. she felt that his insecurities surrounding relationships were already so acute that any threat of outside judgment weighed on him and increased his anxiety to intolerable levels. he so wanted to preserve an ideal version of himself in the minds of his fans that he would often default to avoiding the issue, and he broke up with her because his fears made him feel so jealous and unsure. (about a year later, he continually asked his friends to call mindi to reconnect, but the calls were not made by the people around him at the time). in another situation, sammy davis jr. said the colonel convinced elvis his fans would abandon him if he starred with sammy in "the defiant ones," which was a story about a black prisoner and a white prisoner working together; the final film with tony curtis and sidney poitier came out in 1958. elvis was completely torn up about it and allegedly wept when he told sammy he couldn't do it, finally admitting to sammy what the colonel had told him. so here's an instance where the colonel used elvis' great love of his fans and his fears of losing them to make elvis believe the worst in others (they won't see you if you're too fat, too rebellious, too progressive), and so at times, elvis might compromise on what he really believed because he felt he had so much to lose. he was already highly, highly insecure about his ability to perform in romantic relationships, and mixing that with his fears about public reaction likely made him afraid to compare himself to boyfriends of another race or to pursue interracial relationships openly in front of his wary/bigoted friends. it was just a fight he wasn't able to handle all the time. there were people in elvis' life and the industry who kept these fears top-of-mind for him, just so they could avoid taking risks. and elvis' insecurities made him susceptible to bowing to societal prejudices at times, while at other times, he broke out of the box completely and made it known that he would not put up with those attitudes around him. i just think it's interesting how much elvis was punished by the people closest to him for being too forward-thinking or taking too many risks, when that's exactly what found him such lasting success. it's just very heartbreaking to realize that this cycle made it hard for him to trust himself, and it touches SO many aspects of his life and decisions. my two cents. :)

thank you so much for this and please everyone who sees this, take some time out of your day to read it because… wow 😭

not you adding “my two cents” at end so casually like this isn’t the greatest piece of insight on Elvis I have ever read !!!

I quite literally have nothing to add because you hit every point perfectly and all I can say is that I wholeheartedly agree, and like others have mentioned we have to take into account that interracial relationship were still considered taboo even in the 70s and could you imagine the backlash Elvis would have received had pictures of Mindi Miller with Fred Williamson surfaced while she was with Elvis?? Like you mentioned Elvis had an image he believed that he had to protect, especially with the Colonel pressuring him too

also if anyone is interested in reading more about Mindi Miller I would highly recommend Joe Esposito’s book, she is mentioned quite frequently

and I found this excerpt from the book really interesting as well and it gives great insight to the kind of life that Elvis had to live due to his profession

[cantsayidont]

May–August 1985. Conceived before the Crisis on Infinite Earths but published concurrently, THE SHADOW WAR OF HAWKMAN was an ambitious attempt by writer Tony Isabella and editor Alan Gold to forge a new direction for Hawkman and Hawkwoman, who'd been stumbling along since the late 1960s in a series of backup features and guest spots. The story borrows a page or three from the lexicon of paranoid '70s conspiracy thrillers, revealing that agents of the Hawks' homeworld of Thanagar are now on Earth, working in secret to lay the groundwork for a military invasion by using the Absorbacon, a Gardner Fox gimmick capable of gathering all the knowledge of a particular world, to gather exploitable secrets from the minds of Earth people. Thanagarians are immune to the Absorbacon's mind-reading powers, but the Hawks are cut off from most of their friends and allies, fearing that any information they share with their JLA comrades might immediately fall into enemy hands. The infiltrators, meanwhile, target the Hawks in hopes of seizing their now rare and valuable Thanagarian technology.

In the Silver Age Hawkman stories, Thanagar had been presented as a typical scientifically advanced post-scarcity society, where crime is mostly limited to a handful of thrillseekers and alien invaders. However, it had suffered a series of major crises in the '70s, which the miniseries helpfully summarizes while filling in a few blanks:

(Inevitably, a few key points of the original stories have gotten lost in translation: In the original Equalizing Plague storyline in JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA #117–119, Katar and Shayera are both infected, but Katar is able to cure himself and later Shayera, albeit not anyone else on Thanagar. The cure provided by Hyathis, an old JLA villain, is not part of that story, but is revealed in the 1978 Adam Strange/Hawkman crossover in SHOWCASE #101–103.)

The original Equalizing Plague storyline is a weirdly reactionary effort for the usually humanistic Elliot S! Maggin, about a silly-looking space villain (the dude with the red helmet and the mustache in the first page above) whose desire for universal equality destroys whole societies by transforming everyone into nebbishes. Even Gene Roddenberry might have balked at that one, and a central problem with Isabella's "Shadow War" storyline is that it requires readers to not only take that story seriously, but even empathize with how it has left Thanagarians susceptible to fascism. (The villains are never very sympathetic, but you're supposed to see where they're coming from, which would be a lot to ask even in less ridiculous circumstances.)

Despite that, the SHADOW WAR miniseries is a decent effort, with higher-than-usual stakes and an effective sense of menace. The scripts are a bit florid — albeit fairly restrained for Isabella — but the art suits them very well, with Rich Howell's Murphy Anderson-like pencils given moody atmosphere by Alfredo Alcala's inking. It sold well, leading to a 1986 HAWKMAN SPECIAL by Isabella and Howell with new inker Ron Randall. This has Katar agonizing over the Thanagarian agents he's killed, which is most interesting for Isabella's novel take on the Gentleman Ghost, an old Hawkman villain who unexpectedly becomes the Hawks' new ally.

Unfortunately, what Isabella and Gold had intended as a five-year saga quickly ran into trouble in the new post-Crisis HAWKMAN series that followed the SPECIAL. According to Isabella, the principal problem was that new editor Denny O'Neil, who took over soon after the launch of the new series, was annoyed that Isabella would attempt something so grandiose and demanded that the "Shadow War" be wrapped up quickly. Isabella soon bowed out, leaving Dan Mishkin and co-editor Barbara Randall to tie things up.

The dismaying resolution, in HAWKMAN #12, ends (temporarily) Thanagar's adventurism on Earth, but culminates in Katar deliberately choosing to leave the planet's new military government in power, with his father's old friend Rul Pintar taking the place of the previous ruling junta. Conceding that the Thanagarian people will be "helpless" without a dictatorship, Katar announces, "You lead them, Rul Pintar! Then at least their next dictator will be a benevolent one who remembers Thanagar's greatness--and can perhaps give a little bit of it back to them!" Thus, what had begun as a paranoid thriller about a secret alien invasion concludes with Hawkman's explicit endorsement of fascist dictatorship, after which he and Shayera fly back to Earth so it won't be their problem. Yikes!

Having lost any sense of narrative direction along with its moral compass, the book lasted only five more issues and was canceled in late 1987. Isabella says some of his original ideas were later recycled for "other company-wide crossovers," which I assume refers primarily to the 1988 INVASION! event, in which Thanagar was one of the invaders.

[scotianostra]

The Scottish actor Nicol Williamson was born on October 14th 1938 in Hamilton.

Williamson was an enormously talented actor who was considered by some critics to be the finest actor of his generation in the late 1960s and the 1970s, rivalled only by Albert Finney in his generation.

Born the son of a factory owner. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Birmingham, England. Williamson was sent back to Hamilton to live with his grandparents during World War II due to Birmingham's susceptibility to bombing, but returned when the war ended, and was educated at the Central Grammar School for Boys, Birmingham

He left school at 16 to begin work in his father’s factory and later attended the Birmingham School of Speech & Drama. He recalled his time there as “a disaster” and claimed “it was nothing more than a finishing school for the daughters of local businessmen”. After his national service as a gunner in the Airborne Division, Williamson made his professional debut with the Dundee Repertory Theatre in 1960.

In 1962 he made his London debut as Flute in Tony Richardson’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Royal Court Theatre. His first major success came in 1964 with John Osborne’s Inadmissible Evidence for which he was nominated for a Tony Award when it transferred to Broadway in 1965. 1964 also saw him appearing as Vladimir in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot at the Royal Court Theatre. In 1968, he starred in the film version. Williamson’s Hamlet for Tony Richardson at the Roundhouse caused a sensation and was later transferred to New York and made into a film, with a cast including Anthony Hopkins and Marianne Faithfull. Faithfull later stated in her autobiography Faithfull that she and Williamson had had an affair while filming Hamlet.

His most celebrated film role was as Merlin the magician in the King Arthur epic Excalibur in 1981. Director John Boorman cast him as Merlin opposite Helen Mirren as Morgana over the protests of both actors; the two had previously appeared together on stage in Macbeth, with disastrous results, and disliked each other intensely. It was Boorman’s hope that the very real animosity that they had towards each other would generate more tension between them on screen, as is evident from their scenes together. Williamson gained recognition from a much wider fanbase for his performance as Merlin. A review of Excalibur in the London Times in 1981 said, “The actors are led by Williamson’s witty, perceptive Merlin, missed every time he’s off the screen.”

Some of his other notable cinematic performances are as a deeply troubled Irish soldier in the 1968 Jack Gold film The Bofors Gun; Sherlock Holmes in the 1976 Herbert Ross film The Seven-Per-Cent Solution; and Little John in the 1976 Richard Lester film Robin and Marian.

Williamson had a reputation as a bit of a hellraiser and a troublesome man who was known for several tantrums and on-stage antics. During the Philadelphia tryout of Inadmissible Evidence, a play in which he delivered a performance that would win him a Tony Award nomination in 1965, he hit the equally mercurial producer David Merrick. In 1968 he apologised to the audience for his performance one night while playing Hamlet and then walked off the stage, announcing he was retiring. In the early 1970s, Williamson left the Dick Cavett Show prior to a scheduled appearance, leaving the host and guest Nora Ephron to fill the remaining time. In 1976, he slapped an actor during the curtain call for the Broadway musical, Rex. In 1991, he hit co-star Evan Handler on the backside with a sword during a Broadway performance of I Hate Hamlet.

In 1974, Williamson recorded an abridged reading of The Hobbit for Argo Records, with authorisation for abridgement provided by Tolkien’s publisher. The recording was produced by Harley Usill. According to his official website, Nicol himself re-edited the original script, removing many occurrences of “he said”, “she said”, and so on, as he felt that an over-reliance on descriptive narrative would not give the desired effect. In 1971, Williamson married actress Jill Townsend, who played his daughter in the Broadway production of Inadmissible Evidence. They had a son, Luke, but divorced in 1977.

Despite concerns over his health in the 1970s, Williamson admitted drinking heavily and claimed to smoke 80 cigarettes a day. In an episode of The David Frost Show in the 1960s, during a discussion about death, which also involved poet John Betjeman, Williamson revealed that he was very much afraid of dying, saying that “I think of death constantly, throughout the day” and that “I don’t think there is anything after this, except complete oblivion.” On 25 January 2012, Luke Williamson announced on his father’s official web site that Nicol Williamson had died on 16th December 2011, aged 75, after a two-year struggle with oesophageal cancer. The news was released late as the actor did not want any fuss to be made over his death.

[thenixkat]

My favorite redemption arc is Chur’s from Magi-Nation season two. It’s fucking wild that the writers decided to give Chur one the episode right after the arc where he’s the focus villain.

They really had this boy be a dictator, had bitches enslaved in mines and as gladiators. Stole my boy Strag’s dad’s memories. Shit was intense. 

And then the next ep he got de-eviled by his boss for failing, forced to work together with the protags b/c he wants to be evil again and is the only person willing to risk their current allegiance to de-evil Tony’s brainwashed grandpa (Chur was the one who brainwashed Tony’s grandpa and turned him evil cause my boy Chur was putting in work for team evil). People very much did not trust non-evil Chur until he actually did good deeds. (Getting un-eviled did not make him not a jerk, he was only helping for his own selfish goals initially and the good guys decided to try and teach him to be good/encourage him to be a better person)

(It helps that Shadow Magi are literally infected with evil magic that demonstratably fucks with their mind. Two out of our three protags have gotten eviled at least once before, Strag in particular is more susceptible to turning into a shadow magi than most due to his ancestry, and Edyn’s dad got eviled last season and was saved from that)

And also Chur does go back to being evil at the end of the ep. He’s no longer on the same side as the bad guys and the experience did leave a mark on him even if he’s not with the good guys either.

Unfortunately Magi-Nation was cancelled b4 they got a season 3 so we’ll never know what actually happens with that in the future.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Thomas Teufel (1984)

Mars & Nova's Cousin & Otmar & Remus' Younger Brother Thomas Teufel

The younger brother of Otmar and Remus, and younger cousin of Mars and Nova, Thomas is very free-spirited and adventurous, signing up for any class at Columbia University he can get. He ended up in C.U.P.S via the persuading of his cousins and brothers.

"I have class in ten and I didn't read the book, someone give me the notes."

Name

Full Legal Name: Thomas Jupiter Teufel

First Name: Thomas

Meaning: Greek form of the Aramaic name 'Ta'oma'' Meaning 'Twin'.

Pronunciation: TAHM-as

Origin: English, French, German, Dutch, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Greek, Biblical, Biblical Latin, Biblical Greek

Middle Name: Jupiter

Meaning: From Latin 'Iuppiter', which was ultimately derived from the vocative form of Indo-European 'Dyēws-pətēr', composed of the elements 'Dyēws', from the root 'Dyew' meaning 'Sky' or 'Shine' and 'Pətēr' 'Father'

Pronunciation: JOO-pi-ter

Origin: Roman Mythology

Surname: Teufel

Meaning: From a nickname meaning 'Devil' in German

Pronunciation: TOI-fel

Origin: German

Titles: Mr

Nicknames: Tom, TJ, JT, Tommy

Characteristics

Age: 30

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human (Touched by the 'Psychic Realm')

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: April 21st 1954

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Wiccan

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, German

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Taurus

Actor: Tony Danza

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Crown Heights, Brooklyn, New York

Current Residence: Glendale, Queens, New York

Appearance

Height: 5'9" / 175 cm

Weight: 169 lbs / 77 kg

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Occasional Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Columbia University Paranormal Society (Member), Columbia University (Student)

Friends: Mars Teufel, Anselm Teufel, Milo Teufel, Gilbert Teufel, Norman Teufel, Otmar Teufel, Remus Teufel

Significant Other: None

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Matthias Teufel (73, Father), Magdalene Teufel (65, Mother, Née Bauer)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Otmar Teufel (34, Brother), Remus Teufel (32, Brother)

Siblings-In-Law: None

Nieces & Nephews: None

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Currently attending Columbia University

Occupation: Student

Employer: None

Expertise:

Willing to Learn

Wiccan Knowledge

Spiritualistic Knowledge

Charismatic

Charming

Athletic

Friendly

Relaxed

Faults:

Sweet-Tooth

Susceptible to Possession

Late to Classes

Easily Distracted

Backstory: Thomas Jupiter Teufel was born in Brooklyn in 1954, the elder of his two brothers was born in 1950, and the younger born in 1952. Their mother and father kept them safe, protecting them from the chaos their Uncle Conrad created for the family. Thomas had always been a follower, not a leader, it wasn't until his brothers told him to join them at the Columbia University Paranormal Society, that he finally found a place to be his own person.

[themculibrary]

General Rated Fics Masterlist 2

Links Last Checked: January 10th, 2025

part one

5 Times Peter Fell, and Tony caught him. And the 1 Time Tony didn’t (ao3) - eva7673 35k

Summary: Peter has a nasty habit of falling. And Tony, bless him, will catch him every single time. Until the day he can’t.

7 Times Peter Starts To Realize He Has A Family + 1 Time He Knows He Does (ao3) - JAWorley pepper/tony 46k

Summary: Peter knows he had been lucky to get to hang around with Mr. Stark before the blip… lucky to have a mentor to look after him, to patch him up after a rough night out as Spider Man, and to get him out of trouble at the foster home if he stayed out too late. After the blip, Peter is starting to realize just how lucky he is… because it’s no longer just Mr. Stark. Now he has a daughter, and a wife, and he could choose to just forget about Peter… leave him to his own devices, but the Starks seem intent on including Peter in activities like fall photos, trips to the pumpkin patch, and movie nights at their cabin. Whenever Peter leaves, he misses them. He misses home. A fic for Cozytober2023.

OR

A love letter to fall, to the fandom, and to families. Unapologetic fluff and family feels.

A Different Body (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor steve/bucky 1k

Summary: When you turn sixteen, you swap bodies with your soulmate. Steve and Bucky discover they’re soulmates.

Anti-Virus (ao3) - marinarusalka steve/tony 4k

Summary: Steve didn’t think he could get sick any more. He was wrong. Tony didn’t think of himself as the caretaking type. He was wrong too.

Carry on Wayward Son (ao3) - TinyButFierce 9k

Summary: Five times the Avengers didn’t meet Tony’s kid and the one time they did.

Cold (ao3) - vulcanscully steve/tony 3k

Summary: Steve Rogers never liked the winter.

Dogs of SHIELD (ao3) - TheGirlInTheB clint/phil 8k

Summary: Lucky’s a good dog. Lucky’s a smart dog. Lucky’s human? Not so smart. Like today he didn’t come home. And when he finally did, he was changed into a corgi! Lucky’s gonna do his very best to help get his human back on two legs >:3

Frostbite (ao3) - Lailuhhh 10k

Summary: The team go on a mission that takes them to the snowy mountains. No one pieced it together that it was probably a bad idea to take Peter with them when he was especially susceptible to cold weather.

Holiday Meetings (ao3) - Drappersky steve/bucky, bruce/natasha, clint/laura 3k

Summary: Steve and Bucky go to a "magical" Christmas tree farm up state. Steve gets lost in the snow, Bucky freaks out and they find everyone but who they're looking for. Happy Holiday's :)

Kissin’ Dynamite (ao3) - crime_fighting_spiderling 27k

Summary: “Maybe I shouldn’t go.” Peter spoke. MJ shoved a permission slip into his hand at his comment.

“You’re going.” She simply stated.

Where Peter and his class go on a field trip to Stark Tower.

Knit and Purl (ao3) - Six2VII sam/bucky 5k

Summary: Bucky has recently retired and joined a knitting circle.

lighthouse (guiding you home) (ao3) - kalina16 gamora/peter 13k

Summary: “Because they’re our song lyrics. Seriously, who else in space do you know that’s gonna be blasting the Pina Colada song all over galactic interspace? It’s like, the best homing beacon ever.”

In the wake of everything that happened with Thanos, Peter’s down a team member, down five years, and down his heart. But he’ll be fine, really. He’s just gonna keep playing music for someone’s who’s not there to hear it, and eventually things will make sense again.

Or, Peter and Gamora have always been better at finding each other than themselves.

Missing Clothes and Stolen Kisses (ao3) - purplemystic sam/scott 3k

Summary: After everything they went through, Scott Lang and Sam Wilson began to grow closer. Their friendship turned into best friendship, no matter how hard Sam tries to deny it and claims Scott is annoying.

Months have passed, and Sam has begun to notice his clothes are beginning to disappear and whenever he and Scott hang out and get drinks, they always end up sharing kisses.

Rebuilding (ao3) - vassalady maria/pepper/natasha 3k

Summary: Maria, Pepper, and Natasha eventually find their way to one another.

Survival Mode (ao3) - Good_As_I_Am94 steve/tony 25k

Summary: Peter shivered pulling the blanket tighter to him. It was 32 degrees outside and sleeping in an old beat up car in a Walmart parking lot didn’t allow for much warmth. He would have turned it on for some heat for a few minutes but it was broken. He had no money to fix it. Peter felt his stomach growl and took a sip from the water bottle in the cup holder.

He knew that the way he was living wasn’t good, but he also had no idea how to do better. He would have to drop out of school and if he dropped out of school then Mr. Stark would get wind of it. He knew that Mr. Stark would try to help but Peter felt his jaw clench—No, he could figure this out on his own. He wasn’t going to let him know how bad things were. He couldn’t chance him telling anyone that he was alone. He wasn’t about to get thrown into the system, but as long as no one knew what was going on. He’d be fine.

that’s why i love fall (ao3) - Skyler10 carol/daisy, phil/melinda, leo/jemma 7k

Summary: Carol is a park ranger in a growing mountain town. Daisy is a cybersecurity city girl in town for a job interview at the town’s biotech lab. Under the autumn leaves, fate brings them together (aided by Daisy’s parents, Phil and Melinda). As sweet as a PSL and with as much plot as apple pie.

The Wrong Wedding (ao3) - Xliviaxrtega steve/natasha 10k

Summary: Steve is getting married. Nat had left two years before, after one drunken “mistake”. Will a wedding invitation bring them together? Or farther apart?

To the end of the line (ao3) - Holdengrey0 steve/bucky 85k

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, a jet carrying Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes crashes in the Canadian wilderness. With winter starting and the temperatures plummeting, will the team find them in time?

New feelings emerge between the men, a whole world looking, an injury, and all sorts of challenges they have to face. How will it end?

Unwound (ao3) - panofcheese bucky/tony 6k

Summary; 5+1+several other times Bucky knitted something for someone that usually isn’t Tony but sometimes is, and one time Tony was Sick Of It.

(because I couldn’t stick to my fic outline, sue me)

—

Alternatively,

Somebody in the tower is knitting things, everybody in the tower is having a laugh at Tony’s expense, and Tony Stark has Had Enough.

You Mean A Lot To Me (ao3) - falconisms (ichidice) sam/scott 5k

Summary: Scott is the newest hero at Avengers Academy. However Scott has admired the Avengers for a while, his favorites being Captain America and Falcon. So when Sam greets him dressed as Captain America, Scott is certainly starstruck.

[involuntaryspya]

ok so how can you interact with bucky? he lives in indiana and he's a lil scurry. what even does he do during the day? well, read on to find out some things that can jump start interactions!

you need to hide. fairly straightforward--you don't want to be found? bucky's very good at disappearing from the public eye. in fact, he has a whole business now centered around helping people escape their past lives.

you need someone/something found. the reverse of the first one--did someone vanish? did some very important property get stolen? bucky's very good at tracking things down through his various networks and reacquiring whatever was lost. this can also include digging up some info on someone/something too.

you need a captain america. so this one might take a little bit of push back, i mean, there are two other captain americas out there. and a whole network who really love that red, white, and blue look. do you really need him? he'll eventually help, sans cap costume.

you need an avenger (reserve). ok, again, yeah he technically fits the bill but are you sure you weren't thinking of iron man? or thor? bucky doesn't even have an identicard, he's barely a real avenger on this front. but sure, he'll help however he can?

you've got some supernatural problems. after his brief run with the strikeforce team, he kind of swore off touching the supernatural stuff. doesn't mean the supernatural stuff agreed tho. he doesn't have a ton of experience here, but his level head and scrappy fighting do tend to make him helpful. especially if your supernatural thing is susceptible to C4.

you are lost in the middle of nowhere. there are literally corn fields for miles, you are lost, no doubt. but do you call bucky for a ride, directions, or keeping company on this several-miles-of-corn trip.

you did an oops and need help getting life turned around. oops could be anything from like, accidental murder, joining a cult or bad guy organization, getting a little in too deep over your head. either way, bucky excels in getting people out of a tough situation and into something more mundane for themselves.

you'd like to see the chickens, please. so he has a farm. a big farm. there's horses, a few goats, a dog named marty, alpine and the candy shop (aka a mess of other cats), and of course: the chickens. stop by for an afternoon of chores animal fun!

you're there to see tony but he's not available at the moment for whatever reason so you get bucky instead. you need iron man? well it's funny you should ask, he's not here right now, can bucky take a message? awkwardly talk to you on the porch? tell you 'no, that's dumb, build your own tech' because his husband won't?

[44gamez]

Bahnsen Knights Review (Switch eShop)

Captured on Nintendo Change (Docked)Inside seconds of beginning Bahnsen Knights, the third in LCB Sport Studio's ‘Pixel Pulps’ collection of video games, we discovered ourselves impressed. We turned the lights down low, placed on some headphones and, with the clear goal of savouring each second, held the Change’s OLED display so near our face that we grew to become totally immersed on this visible novel’s wealthy four-colour pixel graphics and oscillating, unnerving chiptune soundscape. Our barely obsessive behaviour was no shock contemplating how a lot this author loved the earlier two Pixel Pulps, Mothmen 1966 and Varney Lake, visible novels of genre-defining high quality in probably the most essential of the way—that they have been loads of enjoyable to play (particularly Mothmen). These predecessors have been hyper-imaginative horror tales informed to a powerful storytelling customary, seemingly impressed by the retro likes of Bizarre Tales journal. To our tastes, this collection already deserves to be the customary bearer for visible novels as a complete. They’re the sort of idiosyncratic, high quality manufacturing that may elevate a style out of what's a reasonably small area of interest.

Captured on Nintendo Change (Handheld/Undocked) Bahnsen Knights hits the identical excessive requirements from its opening scene. Story-wise, its broad-strokes horror narrative might sound acquainted. The Wicker Man and different tales and movies come to thoughts. All function the identical setup: somebody has gone lacking in a creepy, rural location with the accountability seemingly falling squarely on the ft—or ought to that be automobiles—of an odd cult. This model tells the story of Boulder, an undercover police officer looking for his associate, who went lacking whereas investigating a gang—the Bahnsen Knights, a bunch of car-driving, brooding psychopaths, whose primary pastimes embrace: portray pink crosses on their automobiles; ‘exorcising the highway’; a deep psychological entwinement with tornadoes; being underneath the spell of their enigmatic chief, Toni; and customarily posing an enormous risk to Boulder’s sanity and life. In the event that they uncover you’re a mole, then your life is over. There’ll be no going again to your deeply-missed spouse and child.

Captured on Nintendo Change (Docked) A lot in regards to the Pixel Pulps makes them really feel genuinely particular. In Bahnsen Knights, the very first thing that jumped out at us was the tightness of the storytelling. The sport is informed in skilfully dramatised scenes. The writing sucked us in with robust moment-by-moment characterisation, elevating that semi-familiar story arrange simply the way in which robust writing at all times ought to. Very quickly, you’ll overlook any similarities to different tales. Bahnsen Knights has greater than sufficient character of its personal. Subsequent are the visuals—the fantastically atmospheric illustrations are rendered within the color palette of a Spectrum ZX, and so they make the sport really feel in some methods like a low-bit graphic novel. But, the animations, pacing, and interactivity inherent within the visible novel medium make sure that Bahnsen Knights is its personal beast totally. It is nonetheless very a lot a recreation. Like Mothmen 1966 earlier than it, this incorporates a near-constant, mesmeric cicada sound that’s so hypnotic that we began questioning if the video games have been designed with some bi-aural enjoyable beta-wave trickery, pushing us right into a dream state the place our imaginations grew to become a bit extra susceptible to the impressed dreamy nightmarishness of the story.

Captured on Nintendo Change (Docked) We’ve heard loads of complaints that visible novels don’t have fairly sufficient precise gameplay—that they’re extra studying experiences—however we discovered Bahnsen Knights had a pleasant steadiness between story and interactivity. As with the opposite Pixel Pulps, the principle bulk of this interactivity seems as minor dialogue selections alongside the way in which, however this time there’s additionally a light-weight roleplaying factor. At occasions Bahnsen Knights feels virtually like a point-and-click journey—the investigation into your associate’s disappearance is well-realised as you seek for and interpret clues. Probably the most notable interactivity comes in the course of the motion sequences, which, whether or not depicting a brawl or a high-speed chase, really feel like easy however tonally acceptable diversions that you just may need performed as their very own video games on an alternate-dimension Grindhouse-edition of a Sport & Watch. Their retro really feel matches completely with the artwork type, and so they weave straight into the story—or, within the case of darts and solitaire minigames, flesh out the world and make it ever extra plausible. These sequences are well-timed. They add a bit burst of adrenaline-inducing motion and sometimes threat supplying you with one of many demise endings in the event you fail—then they’re completed, and the story strikes on as swift as ever. Notably, there's touchscreen management all through the sport, and in these moments it usually feels extra responsive than utilizing the joystick and buttons.

Captured on Nintendo Change (Docked) Argentine developer duo Nico Saraintaris (writing and recreation design) and Fernando Martínez Ruppel (artwork and music) each come out of those video games leaving optimistic impressions that they're high-achieving artists of fantastic and universally gratifying style. We would like extra from them, and we’re not bothered how they go about it. They've a smattering of other games out there on-line too, and as at all times they nail the actually vital stuff. LCB makes high-quality and interesting work. A fast take a look at the screenshots will inform you that Bahnsen Knights, unsurprisingly, runs extremely nicely on the Change. Throughout its two-and-a-half hour runtime, you may really feel assured that nothing will get in your manner of delighting on this most gratifying of visible novels. The creativity on present is such that you just’ll doubtless be tempted to reload and tick off all the additional achievements when you’re completed. It’s not important that you just play the Pixel Pulp video games so as, though one character who does seem in every instalment will get his most thorough introduction in Mothmen 1966, which is then adopted up in Varney Lake. And there’s no less than one different backward reference, too. For probably the most half, nonetheless, Bahnsen Knights is a standalone story,

Conclusion

Should you’re intrigued by visible novels and their potential to please, then the Pixel Pulps collection is arguably the absolute best place to start out. Bahnsen Knights is the third entry and it’s fairly rattling fantastic. With its tighter emphasis on gameplay, it is arguably the perfect of the three, although that will be like selecting your favorite baby. It’s okay to like all of them. Bahnsen Knights is a simple suggestion, and one which turns into even stronger in the event you’re interested by horror and peculiar tales. Source link Read the full article

[cagestark]

How about Peter, having had enough of Tony making fun of his short height (Tom is 1 inch shorter than RDJ), just coming to the Tower in high heels and Tony just short-circuiting

Sorry this took a minute! Thanks so much for the prompt

Peter is 18yo. 5k. Smut below. Ignores most canon. Pretty much all canon. Fuck that canon!

Read here on AO3. 

-

“Everybody scoot together. Come on now, act like you like each other. Please remember the rules, absolutely no bunny ears, no crude gestures, and no gang symbols are to be thrown. Am I using that right? Peter? Thrown? Okay—something isn’t right here.”

There is collective groaning as the original six Avengers—minus Dr. Banner who is on sabbatical halfway around the world, plus Bucky who can be trusted to go anywhere Captain Rogers goes, plus, well, Peter—let go of the breaths they’ve been holding and the smiles they’ve plastered on. At this point, Peter’s lips are wobbling from the strain of holding a pleasant expression. Captain Rogers, in one of his more sentimental moments, had insisted they take more photographs to document their time together before Peter went away to college, but no one had anticipated how difficult it might be.

“Who let the centennial man the camera?” whispers Mr. Stark into his ear. Warm breath fans across the younger man’s neck and Peter shivers, covering the reaction with a huff.

Never one to enjoy a laugh at someone else’s expense, Peter’s conscious demanded he stick up for Captain Rogers—though, the man had already accidentally taken the picture twice. “Come on Mr. Stark, he’s doing the best he can.”

“That’s what frightens me most.”

“Everybody, focus on me please! This would be a lot less painful if everyone could stand still for longer than it takes to blink. Now—wait—Peter I said shortest Avengers in the middle. No wonder we’re lopsided. Switch places with Tony to stand by Natasha, please?”

“With all due respect, I’m not the shortest, Captain,” Peter says helpfully. Because he isn’t. “That’s Mr. Stark.”

“Only one way to solve this,” Clint says, who has already used two previous opportunities to try to avoid taking the photograph altogether. He sprints away, leaping over a loveseat and disappearing down the hall. For a man who could be so stealthy, the sound his boots made on the floor was thunderous.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but I’m taller,” says Mr. Stark. The older man draws himself up to his full height, and standing as close as they are (nearly chest to chest!), a tiny part of Peter wants to melt into a puddle. Except he’s been working on trying to appear more adult to Mr. Stark, which includes not wearing his character pajamas around the Tower anytime he spends the night, not creating edible volcanos out of his mashed potatoes and gravy at communal dinner times (even if Clint does it), and being one entire inch taller than Tony Stark.

So instead of melting, Peter pushes his own chest out until they look like two alpha birds posturing for dominance.

In the background, Natasha mutters: “This is like watching two penguins decide which will stand on the egg for the next month—“

“Miss Romanov, everyone knows that it’s the male Emperor Penguin who stands on the egg—“

“So you’re calling yourself the female penguin in this National Geographic love story scenario?” Mr. Stark asks, grinning. He breaks away and leans against the counter of the marble island. His face is warm, crow’s feet and laugh lines blooming in his mirth, and Peter’s stomach suddenly feels so full of butterflies that he can’t even open his mouth for the fear that they’ll all come fluttering out.

“If anything,” Bucky mutters to Captain Rogers behind them. “Peter’s the egg.”

Clint bursts back into the room. In his hand is a tape measurer, a metal, industrial looking thing more likely to be found on a construction site than in Stark Tower. “Alright gentlemen. Stand up straight, shoes off. We’ll settle this here and now.”

Peter nudges off his shoes, laughing. Mr. Stark does the same with his expensive dress shoes. Beneath the polished leather, he is wearing posh, brightly colored socks—Calvin Klein. Nice. Cute. God, even Mr. Stark’s feet are cute. Peter is so, so fucked.

They measure the older man first, the group crowding around, debating on whether the fluff of hair should be discounted.

“Tony—sixty-nine inches. Nice.”

Mr. Stark wiggles his eyebrows behind his tinted glasses. Peter’s face burns at the implication and all eyes turn to him while Clint runs the tape measurer from his heels up his spine to the crown of his head. Everyone holds their breath. Or maybe that’s just him. “Peter—sixty-eight.”

“What?” Peter cries. Mr. Stark bows, blow kisses while a few other Avengers applaud as if he’s done something extraordinary in that two-and-a-half-centimeters alone. Peter could have sworn he was taller, even just infinitesimally. He frowns, nudging his feet back into his sneakers and not bothering to tie the laces. So what if he’s pouting? The way Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, like Peter is a whole foot shorter and only ten years old, is downright counterproductive to his image!

“Now that that’s settled,” Captain Rogers says. “Can we get everyone in their spots please? Their proper spots.”

Begrudgingly, Peter switches with Mr. Stark to stand beside Natasha, who squeezes his shoulder, conciliatory.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mr. Stark says in his ear again, voice a warm vibration. “You’ve still got years of growing left, no doubt. All I have left to look forward to is growing in reverse. That’s shrinking, by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks Mr. Stark,” mutters Peter.

Captain Rogers calls their attention from behind the camera. “Okay, it’s all set. 8 seconds people! Say cheese—“ before dashing off to his spot at the end of the line.

Everyone makes last moment adjustments as the camera’s automated feature counts down. Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, tries to look happy. And then Mr. Stark’s hand comes up to press against Peter’s lower back as everyone shifts closer together. His breath stutters, feeling the warmth through his clothes, in the flush of his cheeks, and in several other even more embarrassing places.

“Cheese,” Peter breathes.

-

“You look like a lobster.”

Peter rips the photo out of Ned’s hands, face burning nearly as badly as it was in the photograph. One glance down proves that Ned—while not tactful—is certainly not wrong. Peter looks like he’s suffering from a terrible sunburn. It’s a direct contrast to how Mr. Stark looks next to him, regal, suit immaculate, glasses tinted to hide the squinting of his smiling eyes. He presses the picture in between pages of a textbook on his desk and slams it shut, willing it out of existence.

But not totally out of existence. Because God Mr. Stark looked so good.

“Besides Natasha, I’m the shortest Avenger,” Peter says, slumping into his desk chair. He picks up a sleek, metal ballpoint pen to click anxiously.  “How dorky is that?”

“You’re taller than I am,” Ned offers.

“Not taller than me,” MJ mutters, tapping away on her phone.

“I wouldn’t care about any of it except—I don’t know. I always thought I was taller than Mr. Stark.”

“Your height is cute, Peter,” says MJ, as if this is the most banal concern he’s ever expressed. “It’s endearing. You’re like a damsel in distress, so tiny and helpless—“

Peter takes the metal pen between his hands and bends it in half, tossing the pieces at her. “Damsel in distress?”

MJ brushes the pen to the floor, unimpressed. “Stark can do that too.”

“Not with his bare hands!” Ned chimes in. Peter beams at him. Ned is always in his corner—and together, they almost have enough neurons to keep up with MJ’s scathing repertoire. Almost.

Still: “This—none of this is the point, though,” says Peter. “I just need a quick way to grow three inches. Overnight preferably.”

“There are some sketchy surgeries I’ve heard of,” Ned suggests. Peter winces. Thanks, but no thanks.

“Just wear lifts, Peter. Stark does it all the time, how else do you think he comes close to being taller than Pepper Potts?”

Peter frowns. “Lifts?”

“Or heels.���

“Like—shoes for women?”

MJ finally looks up from her phone. Her expression is both disappointed yet unsurprised—bland but scathing, her curls a wild mane around her sharp features. “Shoes are for feet. You have feet. Not to mention, heels are a big turn-on for most men. And the confidence they can give? Wild. You’re missing out.”

“Heels are a turn on when Pepper Potts wears them. Besides, I doubt manufacturer’s even make them in my size—”

“Yeah, because your size nine feet are unheard of,” snarks MJ. She kicks off her stylish flats and nudges them across the room. “Try those. We’re the same size.”

Peter slips his feet into them and—okay. Not bad. They feel like they’re liable to fall off any moment but there are no laces to press into the top of his feet all day until they’re aching. And he has very nice ankles. He’s always thought so.

But what would Mr. Stark think? This whole gap year between graduating high school and going away to MIT was supposed to be spent finally making a definitive move on the man he’s been pining after since he was old enough to pine. So far, his progress has been lackluster. And by lackluster, he means non-existent. What was it that MJ said heels gave her? Confidence?

He could use some of that.

“What’s the verdict, Pete?” Ned asks.

Peter clears his throat. “MJ. Do you, by any chance, own any heels?”

-

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” Peter mutters with every step. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph—”

“They aren’t that bad,” MJ says. She’s smirking, and definitely is angling her phone too far towards Peter for it to be innocuous. If she’s filming or taking pictures, so help him God— “I’m actually a little jealous right now. Who knew your legs were so long, Parker.”

The heels are modest by the standards of MJ’s collection: two-and-a-half-inches, black. There’s a strap that goes around his ankle though it’s hidden by the hem of his skinny jeans, but it’s digging into the bone a little too much to be comfortable. The arches of his feet already ache, and he’s using muscles in his calves and shins that he didn’t even use when slinging webs thirty stories above the city. Not to mention, the heels themselves were so, so pointy.

“Cosmo said that wedges are easier to walk in, we should have picked some of those,” Peter mutters. They’re in Peter’s makeshift bedroom at Stark Tower. He doesn’t use it often, even though he’d certainly like to make use of the bed more than he does now—or Mr. Stark’s bed, if he’s being completely forthright.

“Wedges aren’t as sexy. You look hot,” MJ says. She slaps his ass, laughing when he yelps. “Please make sure you take a mental picture of the look on Stark’s face, okay? He’s going to flip his shit.”

“You think?” Ned asks from where he’s lounging on the bed.

“Yeah—do you really think so?” Peter’s fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, turning this way and that way in the lengthy mirror to see himself from every angle.

“Have I ever been wrong? Go get him, Parker.” She hauls Ned up off the bed. “Text us the details!”

-

By the time Peter makes it down to the lab, his stomach is in knots. He pauses just outside the elevator to breathe, wondering if he’s going to be sick. The only solace is knowing that Mr. Stark—Tony, for this, for now, let him be Tony—is alone in his lab. Most of the other Avengers don’t even have the clearance to come down to this level.

“Come on, Parker,” he mutters to himself, shifting in the heels. They’re pinching his toes, a little. “You’re Spider-man! Spider-man! You’ve fought actual real-life villains. This is cake. Absolutely cake. Okay. Okay. Let’s go—back upstairs—”

“Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice overhead nearly sends him stumbling to the ground.

“Yes?” He croaks.

“Boss is wondering if you’re going to come in or spend the rest of the evening in the hallway.”

Peter clears his throat. “Let him—tell him I’m coming.”

The lab still takes his breath away—the gleaming glass, the glowing holograms, the glistening metal. This is where magic happens. Tony is in the center of it, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers, floating diagrams, and two different cups of coffee at various volumes. The older man is no longer in the suit he was wearing this morning for the picture. Instead, he’s wearing a rumpled t-shirt—who the hell the Raconteurs are, Peter has no idea—and blue jeans that fit tight around his thighs. His hair is mussed, and Peter has spent more than one fantasy wondering how it would feel under his fingers.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mutters around a pencil in his mouth. He reaches out to flick at one glowing hologram and it spins away. “What can I do for you?”

“Just came to—uh—see if you had plans—for dinner.”

Peter didn’t think he would make it this far. His palms are sweating, even as he wipes them on his jeans. What the fuck is he doing here? Wearing a pair of high heels? He’s a fool, the biggest, most naïve idiot. After this, he’ll never be able to show his face to Tony or the other Avengers again, he’ll probably have to flee the country, maybe change his name—

“I do now. How’s pizza sound? I just need to finish up some work here and then we can order in. I’m feeling like a homebody tonight.”

Peter’s heart soars. Suddenly he’s flying—forget fleeing the country, he’s going to move into Stark Tower permanently, probably never leave the older man’s side unless it’s to patrol or see his friends and aunt, hopefully become a permanent fixture in Tony’s bed and heart—“I’m pretty sure when you’re rich Mr. Stark, they just call homebodies recluses.”

Tony laughs. “Better than a hermit. Come help me up, kid, my knees are killing me.”

He only makes it one step. He stumbles—his enhanced sense try to save him, but he’s not used to the added height or obstacle of walking on his toes like this. He overcompensates, and then he is biting the dust, sprawled on his ass, tailbone aching as fiercely as his feet.

“Peter—” suddenly the older man’s knees are fine, downright impressive considering the speed with which is rises and crosses the room. Standing over Peter, he casts an impressive shadow, warm eyes washing over him from his hair all the way down to—Tony’s eyes widen. They literally widen, and Peter feels like if he were any less skilled with his poker face, he might have gasped like one of those ladies in the Victorian days, always swooning from scandals. He recovers quickly, reaching down to help him up.

Peter doesn’t need help though—now that he’s taken a spill, it’s like his body has acclimated. He bounces up with surprising grace, wincing at the throbbing in his ass even as it fades.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks carefully.

They are face to face, close enough that he can smell the older man’s body wash—and Peter has to look down, just ever so slightly, to look Tony in the eyes. Tony has an incredible set of eyes—the color of mahogany, framed with perfect dark lashes. They have the same effect on Peter as a knee to the gut might, stealing his breath. Jesus, this much eye contact can’t be healthy. It’s making him hard even, and Peter doesn’t know whether that is a feat or a failure. His throat is dry, so he swallows. “I’m fine. Great! So. Pizza?”

“Kid.”

“Personally, I’m feeling pepperoni.”

“Pete.”

“It’s an American classic.”

“Peter.” Tony clears his throat. He waves a hand towards Peter’s legs. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“That—is not proper footgear to be in a lab—”

Supporting most of the smaller man’s weight, though Peter is fine Mr. Stark, really! Tony helps him cross the room and settles him onto a rolling chair. Peter’s embarrassment wars with his total dejection; it figures that his last hope at impressing Tony or coming across as anything other than a barely-post-pubescent teenager was a bust. Literally. Tears fill his eyes but he blinks them away.

“Peter—are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Just my pride,” Peter mutters.

Tony snorts softly. He stalks away to stand with a hip cocked against one of the metal tables. There, he takes his time and leisurely looks Peter over again, eyes catching and failing to pull away from the delicate heels on Peter’s feet. He licks his lips, and even as Peter’s breath catches, he explains it away. Chapped lips. Duh. The air down in the lab is very dry—

“So, what’s the deal, kid? Did you lose a bet?”

That just makes it so, so much worse. Peter crosses his legs, trying to shrink in on himself. Tony’s eyes track the movement, center on the flash of the delicate clasp around his ankle. Sniffing wetly, he picks at a loose thread on the side seam of his jeans and smiles weakly. “More like, I got some poor advice.”

“They look—good.”

Tony’s voice—the tone, like he’s trying to say something without saying it—makes Peter look up. If he was worried at all what he looked like, he needn’t be: Tony is staring at his shoes, head tilted like it’s an equation he’s trying to solve, or like he’s a patron at an art gallery looking at a particularly interesting Magritte painting.

“They do?” He asks. Peter isn’t above fishing for compliments, especially from this man, this incredible idol who could probably make Peter’s heart sing (and his dick harden) with half a glance and a kind word. “They don’t look—stupid? On me.”

“I was alive in the 70’s and 80’s kid. Heels were a thing. Hell, Bowie did it—I had the biggest crush on him when I was young.”

Peter perks up. Everyone knows that Tony doesn’t care about gender in his partners, but it’s rare for him to bring it up so casually in conversation like this. Every piece of information he learns about Tony is so fucking endearing, his heart aches in his chest. Quickly, he does the math in his head. “Really? A crush on Bowie? But—well. He was so much. You know. Older.”

Tony turns away. He bends to retrieve the pencil he dropped after Peter’s fall. “Yeah. Well I was seven. Age was just a number.”

“Is just a number.”

Tony hums, scribbling something down before tucking the pencil behind his ear. “It’s—the perspective is a bit different from the other side of thirty, kid. Take my word for it.”

“I’m eighteen,” Peter mutters. “Quit calling me kid.”

“What should I call you? Short stuff?”

This isn’t working, Peter thinks. Nothing will work, because this whole endeavor is just a fool’s errand. Nothing will ever change.

Peter can’t help it—he bursts into tears. Tony doesn’t notice right away, because Peter is a pretty silent crier, elbows planted on his knees, face in his palms, shoulders shaking. The silence must go on too long, because then Tony is crouched in front of him on his haunches, warm fingers wrapping around his wrist to carefully pull them from his face.

“Hey—hey, hey. What’s wrong, Pete? What hurts?”

“This—!” Peter says, tilting his head to wipe his damp cheeks on his shoulder. “You—not taking me seriously!”

“I take you seriously—I take you very seriously.”

“You don’t. You’re always calling me kid, like, like I’m still that little boy from the Stark Expo! And then, you’re one single inch taller which doesn’t matter at all in the scheme of things but I know you, I know you’re just going to use it as another excuse to keep from seeing me for the adult I am, and—”

“Is that what this is about,” Tony asks, wrapping a hand around Peter’s ankle. A thumb drifts under the cuff of his jeans to run along the strap of the heels. It hurts because it feels so good, makes him shiver with longing that he knows won’t ever be quenched. “You want to be taller than me?”

“I want to make out with you,” Peter snarks. “But at this point, yeah, whatever, I guess I’ll settle for being taller—”

“Peter.” Tony is soft and stern when he takes Peter’s chin in his hand. He shifts up onto his knees so that they are closer to the same height, those warm brown eyes drifted from Peter’s own down to his lips and then up again. All Peter’s breath seems to be caught in his lungs, he can’t move, can’t even blink for fear of missing a single moment as Tony leans forward slowly, giving the younger man ample time to turn away.

But Peter doesn’t—because he’s not dumb. Because this is everything he’s wanted for so long that he almost feels like it’s a dream.

Their mouths are open at the first press, heads slanting to slot together like they’ve been doing this for ages. His tongue can’t help but reach out, eager to taste the older man, and the first slide of Tony’s tongue against his own is. God. It’s orgasmic. It’s overwhelming. The rough press of facial hair, the firm grip of Tony’s hand as it slides around to cup the back of his head and bring them closer, Peter’s knees shifting open to create more space for their bodies to come together. He tastes like coffee, black. Tony tilts his head just a little more, coaxes his jaw to open wider so that he can lick into Peter’s mouth, and it’s wet, so sensual, Peter goes from soft to hard so quickly that it hurts, head dizzy.

“God,” Peter breathes into Tony’s mouth. Tony laughs softly but Peter barely gives him the chance, pressing his eager mouth forward, licking Tony’s teeth and sucking the man’s full bottom lip into his mouth until he’s the one groaning and sighing.

Tony pulls away, smiling when an upset, undignified noise comes out of the back of Peter’s throat. One of Tony’s hands—fuck, why are his hands always so hot, like there’s a fire burning right underneath the skin?—drift down and he runs his thumb along the obvious erection in Peter’s jeans until he whines. “You want to be taller, Pete? Well here you are. What next?”

“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” Peter gasps. His hips twitch upwards, desperate for pressure on his aching cock. Tony’s hand comes away instead, moving upwards to thumb at the button on Peter’s jeans.

“I have an idea,” the older man says lowly. He thumbs at the button of Peter’s jeans. “Can I, Pete?” He asks lowly, his knuckles slipping underneath the younger man’s shirt to brush against abs that jump at the contact. “You can say no. I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Have you even been listening?” Peter pants. “Yes, yes. Please Mr. Stark—“

Tony groans at the moniker. His fingers are nimble and practiced as he undoes Peter’s jeans, sliding them down his hips when he shifts up to make room. “We’ve got to break you of that habit. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Peter breathes. He’s so hard it hurts, cock straining obscenely at the front of his boxers, fabric dark and damp with precum. Under the older man’s gaze, he feels like he could combust, burst into flames.

“I’d undress you properly, but I’d really like to keep these on,” Tony says, eyes half lidded as he runs his palm down Peter’s calf to the heels, thumb stroking the exposed top of his foot.

“Whatever you want, just, please—it hurts—“

“What hurts?” Tony sounds mildly alarmed, pulling back.

Peter’s face burns. He palms at his cock. “My—you know—I’m—“

Understanding comes over Tony’s face, concern draining away. “Don’t worry, Pete. I’ll make it better.” And then he is leaning down, nuzzling Peter’s hand aside and putting his mouth over Peter’s clothed cock. Even through the cotton of his boxers, it is the most intense thing he’s ever experienced: the heat, burning him inside out, the pressure, the flash of whiskey eyes that won’t leave his own, always making sure Peter is interested in this, okay with this.

“God, Mr. Stark, yes. Fuck, fuck, that’s so good—so—oh—wait—“

Tony pulls back immediately, but it’s too late: Peter is cumming, balls drawn up tight against the heat of his body and throbbing, cock twitching as he spurts into his boxers. “Noooo,” Peter whispers, reaching down to jerk himself off so as to not ruin the orgasm. It’s still the hardest he’s ever cum, Tony watching on, looking pained himself with one hand between his legs and gripping his own cock. The rasp of flesh on denim is just loud enough to be heard.

“Why’d you stop me?” Tony asks.

Peter is gulping for air. At times like this, he wishes he knew sign language. “I didn’t want—not so soon but then—too late and—“

Tony smiles. “It’s okay Pete. I don’t care how long you last. I wanted you to feel good.”

“It felt so good Mr. Stark—“

Tony groans, laughing a little at the face Peter makes when he pulls his sticky boxers away from his half-hard cock. He shuffles on his knees to grab a cloth from inside a nearby cabinet and watches while Peter cleans himself off, still palming himself. He winks. “I’m glad. Never stop stroking my ego, kid.”

The motion of the older man’s hand between his own legs catches Peter’s eye and he swallows, mouth dry, thinking of doing the same thing Tony did just a moment ago, pressing his mouth to Tony’s clothes cock, feeling it jerk under the denim— “Can I—help you, now? Please?”

Tony’s mirth disappears. He stands, joints creaking, and turns away to adjust himself in his jeans. “I didn’t do that for reciprocation, Peter.”

“You did it because you wanted to?”

“Exactly.”

“Cool. Now I want to.” When he stands (after his legs have stopped shaking), he feels six feet tall. His legs feel endless. At the dark look in Tony’s eyes, he feels elegant, powerful, desirable. Tony lets him back him up against the table, box him in with his arms. This man is so powerful: a superhero, smart enough and strong enough to do anything he sets his mind to. And he’s shivering between Peter’s legs, smiling contentedly like he already has come. Peter isn’t hard again yet, but he can’t remember ever feeling this turned on, this sexual.

Carefully, Peter drops down to his knees. He crosses his ankles behind himself demurely and looks up through his lashes to watch Tony’s throat bob as he swallows. “Can I, Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans, head rolling like his neck isn’t strong enough to support it. He cards his fingers through Peter’s hair. “If you want to. I’m yours.”

Peter hums. Tony’s words feed a dark part of himself that he didn’t know was ever hungry. He feels drunk undoing the older man’s belt, drunk with lust and power. It’s as if he’s possessed by some sultry spirit who despite Peter being a virgin has no qualms leaning forward to mouth at Tony’s clothed erection.

The sharp inhale above him and the subtle tightening of fingers in his hair just sends him higher. Deeper. Tony’s scent is strong here, musky but clean.

“I’ve never done this before,” Peter says lowly, brushing his lips against the hard cock as he speaks.

Tony’s breaths are downright shaky as he laughs. “As long as you don’t bite me, there’s no way you could go wrong. I feel ready to blow my load as it is, fair warning.”

“Not yet,” says Peter, all wide eyes and shiny lips. “I want to play with it first.”

He carefully tugs down Tony’s boxers to take in the sight of his cock. It is flushed dark with arousal, twitching happily under Peter’s gaze. Instinct has him wrapping his fingers around the base where there is a nest of dark curls. Then he laps with the flat of his tongue at the head where there is a glistening wetness. He’s only ever tasted himself before, but Tony is remarkably similar. He takes the head into his mouth to suckle, tonguing at the frenulum to coax out more precum.

“Look at you,” Tony says quietly. They’re words that might usually inspire insecurity, but Peter is too far gone. He’s let the anxious part of himself relax to a safe place in the back of his mind. Here, he knows now, he is safe. There is no embarrassment, just his own arousal and the arousal he’s fanning in the man above him. Tony’s hand leaves Peter’s curls to cup underneath his jaw. When his thumb brushes against the rim of Peter’s lips wrapped around his cockhead, the young man opens his mouth to let the thumb in too, running his tongue over each in turn even as the cock jumps. “On your knees, but you still feel taller than me, Pete. Such a good boy—such an amazing man. Already a better man than I’ll ever be. Jesus, baby, just like that—whatever you want to give me.”

Peter opens his mouth wider. Tony’s thumb slips free even as his cock slips deeper. Peter can’t help it—his eyes slip closed. The skin feels like velvet on his tongue as he laps at it, being careful to keep his teeth away. One hand comes up to cradle Tony’s balls and he feels more than hears the groan it draws from the older man’s chest. He establishes a rhythm, sucking as best as he can around his own whimpers, pulling back sometimes to lap at the head. When the cock approaches the back of his throat, he swallows on instinct and Tony’s hands slip free from his hair to scrabble at the metal counter behind his hips, knuckles white. The whole time, Tony keeps up the litany of filthy praise, and if both his hands weren’t busy, Peter would absolutely be palming his own cock which has returned with a vengeance.

“Almost there, Pete,” Tony warns softly. “You can pull back if you want to.”

He doesn’t want to—thanks for asking. He closes his lips around the cock head while running one hand over the shaft, slick with his spit. The precum increases, the balls in his palm grow tight and Tony tosses his head back as he comes, the noises leaving his mouth making Peter throb and whine even as he works to swallow the hot load of cum that floods his mouth.

When he pulls away, there is the briefest moment of insecurity. But it is smothered between them as Tony gathers him in his arms, tilting his head upwards just slightly to press their mouths together. Surely he must be able to taste himself, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re incredible,” Tony murmurs into Peter’s neck, placing a sweet kiss there. When he pulls back, his eyes are decidedly misty and more vulnerable than the younger man can ever recall seeing them. “All this effort—Peter. I don’t know if I’m worth this.”

“Let me decide,” Peter says. He lifts his chin just barely to place a kiss on Tony’s forehead. “And from now on—if anyone asks—”

Tony snorts softly. “You’re taller?”

“You read my mind.”

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Keep the heels.”

[wiypt-writes]

Rawhide

Ch 4- A Little Time

Episode Summary: Following the bombshell dropped on you, you start the training Steve mentioned, but the Alpha seems to be keeping his distance. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching you, as you find out at the Birthday Party Tony insists on throwing for him…

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. A wee bit of angst. And some fluff…

Episode Pairings:  Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Reader.

W/C: 5.9k

Rawhide Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 3

 Whether on purpose or not, Steve seemed to avoid you over the next two days. You rarely saw him, and whilst whatever had passed between you had been fleeting, it had run deep enough to trigger the instinctual calls of Alpha and Omega. You had forgotten how that affected you and not having him around left a hollow, sinking feeling in your stomach, one that unnerved you a lot.

However, whilst Steve was conspicuous in his absence, Sam and Natasha were not. Steve had seemingly tasked the pair of them to start the training he had spoken of. As such, when you had reported for work the next morning, instead of being handed your usual farm tasks, Sam had led you away from the main ranch and to the little thicket that stood at the foot of the mountain. The two of you had walked for about ten or so minutes, until the trees had cleared to reveal what looked like a normal barn from the outside.

Yet on the inside, it was anything but.

You’d gaped at the hidden gym, which was equipped with mats, punch bags, weights and targets. Sam had chuckled when you’d asked him if they were hiding a fucking jet anywhere and simply replied that was Stark’s job. And the stupid thing was, knew he wasn’t joking.

Natasha and Sam had explained to you what Steve had meant, about how you could arm yourself using your natural abilities. It wasn’t merely about increasing your physical strength, which would come with the physical training, but about playing to your instincts. 

Whilst an Omega’s sensitivity was seen by Hydra as a weakness, Sam and Natasha explained to you that Shield very much saw it as a strength. You knew from experience that you could see shift in pace and mood a lot quicker than an Alpha or a Beta, and it was about using this to your advantage. You listened as Sam and Natasha explained about subtle things such as eye movement, facial twitches, body language and how, if you concentrated, you could use this to predict an action a fraction of a second before it happened.

But whilst this was all well and good, the big issue was your susceptibility to a full on Alpha Command. Even when on suppressants, if a command was issued within a certain radius of you and with enough force, it could render you powerless to do anything but obey. Or so you thought. According to Sam and Nat, with enough practice and training you would be able to shut your instincts down long enough to resist.

You had scoffed at the notion, until a small voice behind you had told you it was true, and you’d spun to see Banner smiling at you. He’d then given you an example, where Natasha had issued a powerful Alpha Command to sit on the floor. You’d done it before you’d even realised, but Banner had merely stood, arms folded, eyes trained on his Alpha.

You had laid in bed that night, your mind whirring. What they had told you went against everything you had ever been told and learnt, but then again, it would. Hydra saw Omegas as bottom of the hierarchy, in every way, shape and form. Of course they wouldn’t want their Omega’s to know that they had strength and power, albeit in a different way, to Alphas. It would give them ideas about their station.

It had been a huge mind fuck, and the worst bit was, the person you really wanted to talk to it about hadn’t answered his door when you’d knocked on your way down to your Cabin, that stood in between Peter’s and the one that Sam and Bucky shared. You’d tried to sense him, but you were getting nothing. Yet as you’d knocked, Commando had issued a single, booming bark which left you convinced he was in there and shielding from you again.

The second day of training left you drained. You’d started with a little physical work, Sam stepping you through some simple evasion techniques before in the afternoon, he’d then had you study him, carefully, trying to tune into his body language. It had taken you a while but eventually, you’d managed to spot a slight flicker in his left eyelid. Half a second later he’d lunged towards you in that direction and you had successfully side stepped him.

Buoyed by your success, you’d all headed down to The Red Room for a few beers. Steve, once more was conspicuous by his absence, but you knew he’d have no choice but to see you the day after. For it was the 4th July - and Steve’s birthday. 

Natasha had managed to talk Tony down from throwing one of his so-called legendary soirees, reminding him that the last time he’d tried to force Steve to attend, it had ended in utter chaos as Tony had ended up with his face being pushed straight into the overtly decorated cake he had ordered. Instead, Steve had reluctantly agreed to a small gathering at The Red Room.

That said, Tony had still ensured that the entire main street in Stark Wood was decorated for the occasion. Strings of red, white and blue bunting had zig zagged across the street for almost a week and windows were trimmed up with American themed displays. As you all sat there, sipping Natasha’s 4th July special home-brew called Lincoln, Peter gleefully informed you all that Tony had organised a ‘firework display to end all firework displays.’

You went to bed that night feeling considerably warm and happy thanks to the prospect of something so simple as a party and the copious amounts of Lincoln which was pumping through your system.

The next day, with a slightly woolly head, you trudged down to the barn to see to Quin. Whilst there were no drives or any form of specific work planned for the day, the horses still needed tending to. He was already turned out in the pasture with Star and you paused at the side of his paddock, smiling as he trotted over. After giving him a fuss, you made your way into the barn where instantly you were hit by the unmistakable smell of sandalwood and cut grass. Sure enough, as you passed by on your way to the equipment room, Steve was in the office. He was stood up, his back to you as he looked over some paperwork. When you stopped, you saw his shoulders stiffen and not wanting to interrupt, you quickly carried on. You grabbed a pitchfork and broom, dropped them into the battered tin wheelbarrow and began to muck Quin’s stall out. 

By the time you had finished, Steve was gone.

“He always gets a little moody this time of year,” Nat had explained when you told her your fears that night as you were both getting ready for the party. “Combination of the fact that he’d really rather no one made a fuss and he’s getting older.”

“He’s not that old though.” You frowned as Natasha stepped back from where she had been meticulously applying your make up.

“No, he’s not. None of us are, really. Stark’s the oldest, then Bruce…I think the war just jaded us. Now…” she moved, allowing you to look into the mirror that sat on her vanity, “how does that look?”

You glanced at your reflection and blinked a little. It had been a while since you’d done yourself up. Whilst the ‘party’ was casual in nature, Natasha had still insisted that as the women of the group you set an example and made the effort. Your hair was brushed out in soft waves, and the light application of foundation had been done in such a way it accentuated your cheekbones perfectly. Your eyes popped thanks to the neutral eyeshadow, framed by long mascara plumped lashes whilst your lips were coated in a sheen gloss. 

“Wow.” You muttered, leaning closer to examine yourself and Natasha smiled.

“I think it compliments your outfit.”

“You mean your outfit.” You corrected.

“Yours now, call me your personal stylist.” She smirked, before she nodded to the full length mirror that hung on the large wardrobe door. “Go ahead, see the finished article.”

You got to your feet and made your way over the room, glancing at your reflection.

The woman in the mirror didn't look like you at all, at least not the current you. The woman looking back was a you, reminiscent of your past, when Colin would come to court you for dinner or days in the mid-town saloon bar for a twirl or line dancing and drinks. The chambray denim shirt button down seemed to fit your natural curves from bust to waist, you already having rolled the sleeves for a cooler look that keeping them u done in the summer heat. The soft, cream coloured tulle of the miniskirt you had chose felt a little ticklish among your smooth legs as it swished and sashayed over your skin. The accompanying brown leather belt was wide enough to hide where both items tucked in neatly together while matching brown boots, new and not worn in, adorned your feet. 

“Fine, I'll give it to you,” you conceded, “I look okay.”

“You look more than okay.” Nat rolled her eyes at you as you turned to face her. “In fact, it’s a good job I’m bonded or I might be tempted myself.”

You felt your cheeks heat at her compliment and she laughed, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s head up and see what mess Thor, Bruce and Stark have made of my bar whilst they’ve been setting up.”

“I can’t believe you left them alone to do it.” You snorted and Nat shrugged.

“Thor and Tony have a habit of causing chaos when together, but Bruce tends to be able to reel them in a little.”

You smiled, grabbed your purse and followed her out of the room.

***** Steve arrived at the bar as late as he dared, and was greeted by a barrage of noise that made him wince. He fixed a smile on his face, thanking everyone for their birthday wishes and then made his way to the bar. As he walked, he caught the familiar sweet smell of cinnamon and apples that had plagued him since the day you arrived. His eyes scanned the room and he saw you, stood a little way away, chatting to Peter.

You looked stunning. And more so, you looked happy.

Instantly, your shoulders stiffened and you glanced around. He knew you could sense him, so he turned away, pushing up the mental blockers as he made his way to Natasha. She handed him a scotch, placing the bottle down in front of him, and rolled her eyes.

“She knows you’ve been avoiding her, Rogers.”

“I haven’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not talking about it.” He snapped. “This entire party is bad enough, so don’t put me in an even worse mood, Romanoff.”

“God, you’re an idiot.” She scoffed, turning away.

“Won’t argue with that.” Steve mumbled, necking his drink in one.

As the night progressed, more and more people from the town flocked to the bar to join in the celebrations. Steve greeted them all, engaged in polite conversation, but all the time could sense your aura. Whilst you were trying to enjoy yourself, you were projecting an undercurrent of melancholy. And it pained him to know he was the cause. Even if he was trying to avoid you for your own good.

The thing was, it was hurting him too. He hadn’t felt a connection like that before, not even when he’d started to have feelings for Peggy. Your entire personality made him want to sing, not least the fact that you were absolutely gorgeous, but in an innocent way. 

With a side eye, he watched as Thor pulled you over to dance, and the anger coursed through his system as he saw you protesting with a laugh before you gave in and joined the group of people that were currently line dancing in the corner. You had no idea what you were doing, as it were a dance you hadn't done before, but that merely added to the fun, he could tell.

“Wow, what’s got your shield in a knot?” A familiar voice spoke and Steve spun to see Sharon Carter, Peggy’s cousin leaning on the bar besides him.

“Jesus, can you not sneak up on me like that?”

“Sorry, force of habit.” The blonde Alpha chuckled, offering him a hug. “How you been, Steve?”

“Not bad. Be better without all this unnecessary fuss.” He waved his hand and Sharon rolled her eyes.

“Still a cantankerous bastard, I see. Peggy always said you had an old head on young shoulders.”

At that Steve gave a snort before his face slid into a soft smile, “yeah, she did.”

“So, other than the girl you can’t keep your eyes off, what else is new?” She asked. Steve groaned, and Sharon cocked a brow. “Don’t even try and deny it, Rogers.”

“Nothing, well, apart from the fact we got news Hydra are on the move. But then again, you’ll already know that, being Fury’s insider.” Steve took great pleasure in the way her stoic nature slipped. “You’re too like Peggy, as soon as Fury mentioned he had someone undercover I knew it would be you.”

“Fine, guilty as charged.” She rolled her eyes, but didn’t get chance to say anything else before Tony appeared with Pepper.

“Thought it was you.” He turned to Sharon, eyeing her appraisingly. “So what’s Captain Hook got you working on at the moment.”

“Classified.” Sharon shot back and Steve smirked a little.

“Hmmm.” Tony mused, picking up the bottle that was on the counter. He topped his glass up, his eyes returning to Sharon. “I still don’t trust him.”

“Well, that’s your prerogative.” She popped a shoulder, “now excuse me, I’m going to say hi to the others.”

The two men watched as Sharon headed off, and as Steve turned back to Tony, he caught that your eyes were following Sharon across the floor, your eyes narrowed a little.

You watched the mysterious blonde as she stopped by Clint, the Beta’s face cracking into a smile as he gave her a hug, before Sam did the same.

“Hey, Thor… who’s that?”

“Who?”

“That?” You nodded towards her. 

“Sharron Carter.”

“Carter?” Why the hell did you know that name?

“Peggy, Steve’s mate. She’s her cousin. Well, was, I suppose.”

“Oh.” 

“She works for Fury. I don’t know what she’s been doing since the war. She pops in from time to time, must have come to say happy birthday to Steve.”

“Right, are they…close?”

Thor chuckled, “don’t fret little Magpie, there’s nothing like that between them.”

“That wasn’t…that’s not…”

“Course it isn’t.” Thor gave you a wink. You glared at him, and the tall Alpha simply gave a bark of a laugh. “You know, Sam and Steve are right about you. Though you be small, you are fierce.”

“Piss off.”

That caused him to roar with laughter, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh back.

***** An hour or so later, the party had spread its way outside to the street which was full of townsfolk. All of whom had been celebrating in other bars as well as The Red Room.

“This is the best set of revels I have seen in years!” Thor’s booming voice declared, gleefully. “Stark, when do the fireworks start?”

“Ten pm, same time I told you five minutes ago. Keep your wig on, Point Break.”

“Wig?” Thor frowned, looking at Tony, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t wear a wig.”

“No, I know it’s a figure- you know what, never mind.” Tony rolled his eyes and turned away, as you, Natasha and Sam both laughed aloud as Thor followed. “This is my own hair, look Stark…” Thor tugged on the strands, which hung to his shoulders as Tony face palmed himself. “Could any wig look this good?”

“He is such a Himbo.” Natasha shook her head.

“Speaking of which, you guys seen Frosty?” Sam looked around and you wrinkled your nose.

“What is it with the cold references? Why do you call Bucky The Winter Soldier?”

“In the battle of New York, as well as losing his arm, he err…he suffered a significant head trauma.” Sam explained, his demeanour soft. “He went AWOL. We searched for him for ages and eventually found him three months later hiding out in the Rockies. It was the middle of Winter and he was freezing, and he was close to death. Had no idea who he was and kept getting irate when we referred to him as Bucky so we coined the name Winter Soldier instead, which he preferred.” Sam sighed, and you looked at him, your eyes wide.

“Oh Sam, that must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great.”

“But he got better, obviously.”

“Eventually. When he’d got his strength back, Banner suggested I re-affirmed the bond, you know, bite over the mark again. Not like people do during the throes of passion, but really bite. Took Steve, Nat, Thor and Tony to hold him down but eventually when I managed, something just clicked. The Winter Soldier went, and Bucky returned.”

“Wow.”

“Powerful thing, bonds.” Natasha spoke, wisely. “People always underestimate just how meaningful they can be. They see them as simply signifying an ownership, a belonging…but they go so much deeper.”

“They mingle your scents,” you nodded and both Sam and Natasha turned to you, “a piece of you, in a way, well it becomes part of your mate too.”

“Right.” Sam nodded, a smile on his face.

“That’s why they hurt so much when they break.” You whispered, clearing your throat a little.

There was a silence, until Sam located Bucky as he was stood talking to Happy, Tony’s head of security. Your eyes flitted around the crowd, searching, but to no avail.

“He’s inside.” Natasha said with a slight smile as you looked at her.

“Who?”

“Rogers.”

You rubbed your temple and sighed. “He hasn’t spoken to me all night. I don’t know what I’ve done.”

That was an out and out lie, you knew full well what you’d done. You’d title trilled at him, chirped out his given status in the middle of…well, you had no idea. And more so, it had caused him to trill back.

“If you’re that bothered, go talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“Oh for the love of…don’t make me drag you in there myself.” Nat rolled her eyes. “Go. Because you reek of unease, and it’s starting to cramp my style.”

“God, you’re such a bitch.”

She shrugged, before she put her hands on your shoulders and spun you round. She then gave you a harsh shove in the back, causing you to stumble forward a little. You glared at her over your shoulder and she made a shooing gesture with her hands.

“Fine.” You growled before you headed back inside. The bar was empty, but Steve was in here somewhere, you could smell him.

And suddenly, a wave of steely determination washed over you.

You strode through to the back of the bar and headed past the little kitchen and down to the storage room. Sure enough, Steve was stood, in the middle, simply gazing up at the shelves, his hat hanging by his side in his right hand.

“You okay?” he asked, not even turning round. 

“Yeah, what are you doing in here?”

“Need more scotch. What about you?”

“I err, well I just…I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” he turned to face you, and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry if I upset you the other night.”

“Upset me?” He brushed his bangs back off his face with his large and placed his hat on his head, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “I didn’t mean to title trill like I did. It’s the first time that’s happened since…,well, anyway, I don’t know what happened, I just think it was with everything we had talked about and-“

“Doll,” Steve sighed, his eyes raising to your face, “you didn’t upset me.”

“Right,” you took a deep breath. “Okay.” You hesitated for a moment. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’ve not…I haven’t been avoiding you.” Steve’s eyes darted from yours and you snorted, giving a small scoff.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an atrocious liar?”

Steve blinked as you cocked your brow at him before he dropped his head a little. “It’s been said.” He peeked up at you from beneath the brim of his hat and shook his head. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“Because there was a flash of something, between us?” You asked, not quite sure where your brashness or abruptness was coming from but you simply took a breath and Steve’s eyes twinkled, his lips curling up slightly at one side.

“Right.” 

Your fingers tangled in the frills of your skirt as you glanced down at the white, lacy material. “I didn’t’ feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your face to Steve’s and he blinked, his mouth opening a little before he hastily shut. There was an awkward pause before Steve nodded to the door. “So, scotch…” Dejectedly you nodded and watched as Steve walked over to far side of the room and stretched up to grab a bottle. You couldn’t help but watch was the muscles of his back and shoulders rippled as he wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle, lifting it down.  You also couldn’t help, nor were you prepared for, the sheer power of the primal spike of desire that flitted through your system, and before you could even blink, you saw Steve still. The noise that left your throat was half whimper; half sigh, and with a careful, considered movement, Steve set the bottle on the floor. He slowly turned round and you shook your head. “I’m sorry, I-“ your eyes moved to his and he swallowed, the air thick with the tension between you as your words died. You felt your chest starting to tighten, like someone had placed your lungs in a vice. Your eyes grew wide as you struggled for air and in a flash, Steve was in front of you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Hey, come on, deep breaths.” His voice was gentle as you wrapped your hands around his wrists, and in a movement that was not of your conscious doing, you ran your nose along the scent gland located just above his thumb. Steve felt the low purr rolling around his chest and throat as you inhaled. He watched carefully the calming effect it had on you as your breathing slowed, your shoulders relaxed and your entire body exuded calmness and contentedness. But then your eyes flew open and he watched your faced rearrange itself into a look of shock and horror as you suddenly realised what you’d done. You’d scented him. You stared up at him as his eyes locked into yours, and before you could back away, he gently took your wrist in his hand. In a movement mimicking your own, he ran his nose across your skin, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath and he felt that all too amiliar stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

Until eight weeks ago, it was a feeling that he hadn’t felt for almost six years. It was a heady mix of desire and excitement, combined with a warm and powerful urge to protect you and care for you, provide for you in any way he could.

A soft preen left your mouth as your chest hitched and your eyes closed, and Steve’s lips curled up into a soft, satisfied smile at your reaction. His large hand gently cupped your jaw, thumb resting on your cheekbone. And this time, when your eyes opened, there was no shock, just a warm sense of curiosity and puzzlement.

A puzzlement he echoed himself, he was astounded at exactly how strong his feelings for you were. It went beyond the basic Alpha/Omega biology that he had experienced before.

“God, what are you doing to me, Y/N?” He whispered, his eyes bouncing across yours and you gazed up at him as you blinked, owlishly. “You’re doing it to me too.” Your reply was equally as quiet.  Steve’s eyes flicked to your mouth, as you leaned into his touch, your cheek pressing into his calloused palm, which was softly caressing your skin. In a movement that seemed to take a lifeline, his head dropped towards yours, his hand pulling your face to meet his as your eyes flickered shut. It was merely a feather-light brush of lips, as his open mouth hovered over yours, so soft and smooth in contrast to his own which were slightly chapped with the exposure to the air and sun. The tip of his nose bumped against yours, the heated skin on your face was smooth and he was hyper aware of how it felt as it rubbed against the bristles of his beard. 

He was fighting his Alpha urges now, the urge to slam you against the wall and kiss the life out of you. But that was out of the question. With the will power that had taken him years to learn how to exercise, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. “Omega,” his voice was a rasp and it sent a warm shiver down your spine, “you need to tell me what you want.” Your eyes opened and you looked at him, frowning a little. “I don’t-“ “Tell me.” You took a deep breath, you mind foggy as you attempted to arrange your jumbled thoughts into some form of order. As you stood, your breathing deep, you blurted the words out before you had chance to shy away. “I want you to kiss me.” You hadn’t expected the kiss to be as tender as it was. There was no bruising possessiveness, just a softness that eased from his body as his mouth slanted across yours. His lips were rougher than your own, but still softer than that delightful beard as it tickled your skin. His tongue flicked, almost questioningly against your bottom lip and you leaned into him more, allowing him in. The hand that wasn’t cupping your face curled around your hip, but his hold was gentle, just like everything else he was doing. He was careful, and you could tell he was holding back.

Which, in turn, made you want him to give you more.  

A noise which sounded suspiciously like the shuffle of feet caused you to break apart. Steve paused, his head still and you could see the vein in his neck as he strained to see if he could sense something, but almost instantly his shoulders relaxed and he shook his head.

“I can’t hear anyone.”

“So no one saw?” 

“Do you care if they did?” He shot back and you popped a shoulder.

“Not especially, but I know they’d all have something to say.”

“Well, Doll, I hate to break it to you, but a lot of people will have something to say about you being my Omega.”

“Woah, steady on Cowboy,” you teased and he arched a brow, “who said anything about being your Omega?”

“Well, I just…” he frowned a little, his brow creasing and you laughed.

“I’m willing to be your partner, I mean, we’re all equal here, right?”

At that it was Steve’s turn to laugh, and shook his head. “Okay, yeah, you got me.” There was a pause, before you sighed and Steve’s face softened as he looked at you.

“Listen, Steve, I can’t promise anything, not about how this is going to go. I don’t know if I’m ready for…”

“Hey,” he cut you off, taking your hand in his, “don’t think about that, I can promise you. It won’t happen until you’re ready, and I’m ready.” He added as an afterthought and you nodded, “if we ever are.”

“And if, we’re not?”

“Well, I know a few couples that happily get on with life without bonding. It’s not the be all and end all.”

“It isn’t?” You frowned, and Steve shook his head.

“No. What matters is finding someone you care for and want to be with. It’s like marriage, not everyone does that either. Some couples pick one or the other, some take both, some do neither. Especially those who’ve been bonded before. It’s just the way it goes.”

“Oh, I...” you suddenly felt a little foolish and Steve chuckled.

“How about we start with a date first?”

You smiled, the heat rushing into your neck as you blinked and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good.” Steve nodded, before he stooped down to pick up the bottle, his other hand held out for you, “let’s get back out there before someone really does come looking for us.”

You slipped your palm into his and allowed him to lead you back into the main area of the bar. As you both emerged, Steve dropped the bottle onto the bar and Natasha turned to look at the pair of you from where she was stood, just outside the door on the sidewalk. Her eyes flicked to your intertwined fingers and then she looked at you, a maddening smirk on her face as she slowly turned to Steve. 

“Not a word.” He spoke to her, sternly, as a wave of authority, mingled with an undercurrent of satisfaction washed off him.

In contrast, the only thing you could sense from Natasha was smugness.

***** “And it’s definitely her?” Rumlow leaned back in his chair, feet on his desk as the voice on the other end of the line scoffed.

“What, you think I wouldn’t recognise her? Yeah, it’s her.”

“You get any photos?”

“A few, one of them you can’t really see her face…”

Instantly, the phone he was speaking into vibrated and Rumlow glanced at it, opening the message. His lips grew into a smirk as he saw that it was definitely you. Your hair might be a different colour and much longer than it had been, but he’d recognise your face anywhere. A pretty face that should have belonged to him.

And then he reached the final photo and he felt his blood boil.

“Yeah, as I said, on the last one you can’t really see her face… on account of the fact its busy being eaten by Rogers. Just goes to show, you can toss all the filthy suppressants down your neck you want, you can’t deny what you are. She stank of desire, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on the verge of a breakthrough heat…”

“That son of a bitch! She’s mine.”

“Well, technically she’s not.” His informant drawled back. “You never actually managed to bond her…despite the fact Bryce basically offered you her on a plate.”

“Shut up, you weren’t even there.” Rumlow growled. “Shea put up a good fight, better than I expected. Took me longer to take him out.”

“And she just escaped.”

“Fuck you.” He snarled and the voice laughed. “Has Rogers bonded her?”

“No. They were both pining like a pair of lovesick puppies, it was disgusting. That took some shielding from, I can tell you.” The voice shuddered a little. “I’ll give him his credit though, didn’t think he’d have the balls to go for it.”

“He’s always been a pussy that way. He’s too nice, cares too much. He’s a disgrace to Alphas all over, we’re built to take and rule, not give and care. Mind you, lived half his life as an Omega so…”

“Well, you should be pleased. You got plenty of time before he bonds her.”

“If he does.”

“He will. The connection was too strong for him not to. It’s just a question of when.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll wait." Rumlow mused. “I mean, it’ll be all the more fun to watch her break again when I rip his throat out and she feels it snap.”

The voice scoffed. “You think you can beat Rogers?”

“I had him beat in New York, if it wasn’t for Barnes he’d be dead.”

“You were lucky,” the voice scoffed, “Rogers has that Pseudo strength coursing naturally through his veins. You were geared up to the hilt.”

“All it took was a comment about his Omega and he lost concentration.”

“Well he won’t fall for that again.”

“This will all be irrelevant once you get us what we need from Shield.” Rumlow cut in, “you made any progress?”

“I found him, yeah. Just a case of figuring out when we can make a move. And you’re not making that easy, by the way. Stark has almost as many ears to the ground as Fury, your current actions won’t have gone unnoticed”

“They’re not supposed to, you fucking moron.” Rumlow groaned. “We’re sending a message to not only the Avengers, but those supporters of ours who have been in hiding. We want the entire country to know that we’re rising again.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take it’s place.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmmm. Hey, listen, there is something I’m curious about.”

“What?”

“Why do you care where Y/N Langley is? I mean, she bailed two years ago. I thought you were better than that, chasing some piece of skirt Omega.”

“Bryce wants her back. The shame of having his lowly Omega sister slip though their fingers was just embarrassing. They’ve been searching for her for years, but to no avail and his dad took that shame to his grave. It made Bryce more determined to find her.”

“And you?”

“She’s mine by right, I killed her Alpha. The fact she’s now tangling with Rogers makes it all the more sweet. Get rid of him, and the rest of them and I’ll be the person that not only catapults Hydra back into control, but by making an example of her, we’ll ensure that Omegas stay in their place for the rest of time."

“Huh, lucky for you Stark’s little network sounded off then, isn’t it?”

“They really have no idea there’s a rat in their midst do they?” Rumlow chuckled.

“Let’s just hope it stays that way. Anyway, as fascinating as it always is to talk to you, Brock I gotta go. Make sure Langley has that money in my account by tomorrow morning.”

“It’ll be there, I’ll be in touch. 

“Always a pleasure,” came the dry response, “Heil Hydra” and the line went dead.

Rumlow tossed the phone down, running a hand down his face before he glanced at the map on the wall. His eyes fell on the Blue area that depicted Montana and he smirked. Soon that map would be a mass of red, and there was fuck all anyone, not even the feared Avengers of the 107th could do to stop it.

“Heil Hydra indeed.” He chuckled. Reaching for his phone once more, he dialled a number, and didn’t even wait for the voice to greet him before he spoke. “We found her.”

**** Chapter 5