#tony stark car chase

[yellowocaballero]

I would love to hear your thoughts on MCU Tony stark. Irondad specifically. 😌🎤

NORMAL BEHAVIOR KING.

I do not have very sophisticated opinions. Tony Stark, as a character, is defined by his flaws. He fucks up, he does his best to make up for it, he helps people. That's what makes him a hero and a good person. He makes a mistake and he takes responsibility for it. He tries, fails, and tries again until he gets it right. Otherwise he'd be pretty unlikable.

Pulling Peter into the Germany thing in Civil War was a massive mistake and I think Tony understood that. I mean it was actual literal child trafficking. It was incredibly messed up. Tony behavior, but not at all appropriate for an adult to do.

It's interesting to go from there, because now this guy absolutely took responsibility for the one child in NYC who is physically incapable of being normal about anything, and he completely dodged that responsibility. Hoco seemed like the process of him realizing "holy shit I'm doing what my dad did", taking responsibility for Peter, and helping him out and giving him the support he should have had in the first place. In his really clunky and earnest but very weird and ineffective Tony way.

Like that was my impression? My impression was "he sucks, but he's trying". That's IM in a nutshell. It's interesting. It's physically incapable of being interesting if you strike through the "yeah but he's terrible at it" aspect of this. There is nothing left. Their relationship is built on a foundation of Tony Being Absolutely Terrible At This. But he's trying, because Tony always wants to be better even when he doesn't know how.

You have officially thrown me under the Irondad bus are you happy. Did you win, king.

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

The Marvel Comics Characters babysit your dog, Mr. Pickles

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Mr. Pickles: 100 | Marvel’s Most Dangerous Characters: 0

Peter Parker & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Parker thought he had seen chaos. He had battled the Sinister Six, fought off symbiotes, and saved the city more times than he could count. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for babysitting your tiny, fluffy, utterly reckless dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The first incident happened within minutes. Peter had barely set his backpack down when he turned around to find Mr. Pickles teetering on the edge of the kitchen counter, somehow having climbed up without opposable thumbs or logic. A split second later, Peter was diving forward, catching the little menace midair like he was saving a falling civilian from a burning building.

- Webbing became his only salvation. After Mr. Pickles managed to squeeze himself into the vents (how?!), Peter had no choice but to create an elaborate web barricade in the apartment. The place looked less like your home and more like a Spider-Man containment field.

- When he tried to work on some web fluid at your kitchen table, Mr. Pickles took it upon himself to bat at the vials like he was a cat, sending one flying straight into Peter’s hair. “Oh, come on, dude—do you have a vendetta against physics?!” he groaned, now stuck to the chair.

- By the time you returned, Peter was sitting on the couch, hair a mess, web fluid staining his fingers, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap like an innocent angel. “Your dog is not real,” Peter muttered, voice hollow from exhaustion. “He is an agent of chaos.” But then you laughed, kissed his cheek, and suddenly, he decided maybe babysitting Mr. Pickles was worth it.

Tony Stark & Mr. Pickles

- Tony Stark was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—and now, apparently, an unwilling dog sitter. He had babysat robots more predictable than your tiny, fluffy terror, Mr. Pickles, who seemed to have a personal grudge against his entire penthouse.

- Five minutes in, the dog had already hacked into JARVIS. “Sir,” JARVIS reported, “Mr. Pickles has managed to override security protocols and is currently sending an email to Pepper Potts.” Tony whipped around. “He what?” The email in question was just a string of random letters and a single attachment: a blurry photo of Mr. Pickles’ own tail.

- The next three hours were spent chasing the demon-dog through the penthouse. Mr. Pickles had chewed through a custom Italian leather shoe, knocked over an entire tray of expensive whiskey glasses, and somehow ended up inside the Iron Man gauntlet display.

- Thinking himself the superior intellect, Tony built a small tracking device for Mr. Pickles. That lasted exactly fifteen minutes before the dog removed it and buried it inside one of Tony’s prized sports cars.

- By the time you came home, Tony was slumped in his chair, his expensive suit now covered in dog fur, while Mr. Pickles pranced happily across the table like he had won the war. “Your dog needs an exorcist,” Tony grumbled. You just kissed his forehead and said, “But you love him, right?” Tony sighed. “Unfortunately… yeah.”

Steve Rogers & Mr. Pickles

- Steve Rogers had fought in wars, led the Avengers, and stared down threats that could destroy the world. But nothing prepared him for babysitting Mr. Pickles, a dog whose only purpose in life seemed to be challenging the laws of nature.

- It started with the shield. Steve had set it down for one minute—one single minute—and somehow, Mr. Pickles had lodged himself inside the strap loops, running across the apartment with it stuck to his back like a medieval knight.

- The escape attempts were relentless. Every time Steve turned away, Mr. Pickles was finding new ways to jailbreak from the apartment. He squeezed under doors, climbed onto furniture he had no business reaching, and at one point, managed to activate Steve’s emergency communicator by jumping onto the counter. Sam Wilson showed up at the door minutes later, breathless. “Did you just summon the Avengers?” Steve sighed. “No. The dog did.”

- Steve had fought entire battles with less stress. When he tried to cook dinner, Mr. Pickles stole an entire steak off the counter and stared Steve dead in the eye as he ate it. When he tried to read a book, the dog somehow ended up inside the couch cushions.

- When you walked in, Steve was on the floor, holding Mr. Pickles upside down like he had accepted defeat. “Your dog has the soul of a war general,” Steve muttered. You just smiled, kissing his cheek. “That’s why I trusted Captain America to babysit him.” Steve sighed, looking at the fluffy criminal in his arms. “Yeah. I guess I kind of like him.”

Thor & Mr. Pickles

- Thor, the God of Thunder, had faced frost giants, dark elves, and cosmic horrors. But none of them were as terrifyingly determined as your tiny, fluffy white dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The moment Thor sat down, Mr. Pickles leapt onto his lap, staring into his soul with his beady eyes. Thor grinned. “Ah! A warrior spirit!” He scratched behind Mr. Pickles’ ears, convinced that this small creature was surely an Asgardian beast in disguise.

- Things took a turn when Thor left Mjolnir on the ground. Mr. Pickles, in his infinite foolishness, tried to pick it up. When the hammer didn’t budge, he began barking at it, circling it like it was an enemy. Thor, amused beyond belief, sat back and watched the battle unfold.

- Mr. Pickles did not win. But he did not give up, either. Thor, impressed by his persistence, lifted Mjolnir just enough for Mr. Pickles to wiggle underneath and emerge victorious. “You are brave,” Thor declared. “And terribly, terribly dumb.”

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was sitting atop Thor’s shoulder like he was king of Asgard. Thor beamed at you. “Your small beast is worthy! I shall take him to battle!” You simply sighed. “Thor, please don’t take my dog to battle.”

Loki & Mr. Pickles

- Loki, Prince of Asgard and God of Mischief, should have known better. He was the master of deception, the embodiment of chaos—but even he was not prepared for your small, dumb, fluffy menace, Mr. Pickles.

- The trouble started the moment you left. Loki, confident in his abilities, had settled in with a book. Within ten minutes, Mr. Pickles had stolen one of his enchanted daggers and was running laps around the room with it.

- Loki was not amused. He summoned illusions of himself to try and corner the beast, but Mr. Pickles—defying all reason— managed to sniff out the real Loki every time.

- Realizing he had met his match, Loki decided to strike a deal. “You may keep the dagger,” he told Mr. Pickles, “if you agree to cease your foolishness.” Mr. Pickles promptly ignored him and chewed on the dagger handle.

- By the time you returned, Loki was sitting on the couch, holding Mr. Pickles like a defeated king cradling his downfall. “Your dog,” Loki said, “is the single most infuriating creature I have ever encountered.” You just smiled. “But you like him, right?” Loki sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “Against my better judgment… yes.”

Clint Barton & Mr. Pickles

- Clint Barton thought he had dealt with enough chaos in his life. He had fought aliens, battled crime syndicates, and survived on a diet of pizza and sarcasm. But babysitting your tiny, fluffy, perpetually confused dog, Mr. Pickles? That was an entirely new level of disaster.

- The first mistake Clint made was underestimating Mr. Pickles. “Yeah, yeah, I got this,” he had said as you left. Five minutes later, the dog had vanished. One second he was on the couch, the next, he was gone—like a ghost with bad decision-making skills.

- The next three hours turned into a full-blown tactical operation. Clint used every trick in the book—tracking skills, stealth maneuvers, even an actual infrared scope—only to find Mr. Pickles sitting inside Clint’s quiver, chewing happily on an arrowhead. “Dude, I need those,” Clint groaned, prying the slobbery mess from tiny jaws.

- He tried distracting Mr. Pickles with treats. That worked for exactly two minutes before the dog somehow managed to jump onto the kitchen counter, knock over a coffee mug, and hit the emergency call button on Clint’s burner phone. When Kate Bishop picked up, laughing, Clint groaned, “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

- By the time you came home, Clint was laying on the floor, defeated, as Mr. Pickles slept soundly on his chest. “Your dog is part ninja, part escape artist, and entirely evil,” Clint muttered. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But you love him, right?” Clint sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “…Yeah, yeah. I love the dumb little menace.”

Natasha Romanoff & Mr. Pickles

- Natasha Romanoff was an elite assassin, a master of espionage, and completely unbothered by most things. Until, of course, she had to babysit Mr. Pickles.

- At first, she thought it would be easy. “He’s small,” she had told herself. “He’s fluffy. How much trouble can he be?” Two hours later, Natasha was standing on the coffee table, arms crossed, watching as Mr. Pickles circled her boots like a tiny, unhinged shark.

- She quickly realized Mr. Pickles had a taste for destruction. He tore apart a throw pillow, attempted to climb inside the dishwasher, and somehow chewed through her phone charger within ten minutes. “You’re worse than Clint,” she muttered, watching as he tried (and failed) to jump onto the windowsill.

- Despite the chaos, she found herself impressed by his persistence. When he got stuck in a blanket, he wiggled until he was free. When he knocked over his water bowl, he marched right through it like an unstoppable force. He reminded her, in some strange way, of herself—small but relentless, completely unaware of limits.

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up in Natasha’s lap, snoring softly. She glanced at you and smirked. “Your dog is dangerous,” she said. You laughed, leaning down to kiss her. “But you like him, right?” Natasha rolled her eyes but continued petting him. “…I tolerate him.” That was Natasha-speak for yes.

Bucky Barnes & Mr. Pickles

- Bucky Barnes had fought in wars, survived decades of brainwashing, and carried the weight of his past like an iron chain. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy disaster of a dog, Mr. Pickles, should have been easy. It was not.

- The first problem was the metal arm. Mr. Pickles was obsessed with it. He barked at it, licked it, and then tried to bite it—only to look extremely offended when his tiny teeth did nothing. “Buddy, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here,” Bucky muttered, watching as the dog attempted (and failed) to wrestle his vibranium fingers.

- Mr. Pickles had no fear. He ran headfirst into furniture, nearly launched himself off the couch three separate times, and somehow got his head stuck inside a cereal box. Bucky spent a full five minutes just sighing and shaking his head before helping him out.

- By the end of the night, Bucky had fully accepted his fate. He sat on the couch, watching as Mr. Pickles zoomed around like a tiny white blur of chaos. “You’re exhausting,” Bucky told him. Mr. Pickles just wagged his tail, happy as ever.

- When you returned, Bucky was sitting on the floor, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap, peacefully snoring. He glanced up at you, face unreadable. “We had a long discussion,” he said. “He’s still an idiot. But he’s our idiot.”

Matthew Murdock & Mr. Pickles

- Matt Murdock had dealt with enough surprises in life. He had lost his sight as a child, trained as a fighter, and spent his nights protecting Hell’s Kitchen. But nothing prepared him for the absolute chaos of babysitting Mr. Pickles.

- The first issue was his heightened senses. Mr. Pickles was small but somehow louder than an explosion. Every tiny footstep, every excited bark, every disastrous moment of chaos was amplified to near unbearable levels.

- Then came the smell. Matt had barely turned his back before he caught the unmistakable scent of a chewed-up shoe. He turned, unamused. “You did not just eat my dress shoes.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, entirely unremorseful.

- When the dog managed to escape into the hallway, Matt had no choice but to rely on his enhanced hearing to track him down. He followed the tiny, frantic paws to the stairwell—where Mr. Pickles had somehow managed to get stuck between two steps. “You are so lucky I like you,” Matt muttered, scooping him up.

- When you returned, Matt was sitting on the couch, Mr. Pickles resting on his lap. He turned his head toward you and smiled. “You didn’t tell me your dog was a criminal mastermind,” he teased. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “But you like him, right?” Matt sighed, stroking Mr. Pickles’ tiny head. “…Yeah. I do.”

Frank Castle & Mr. Pickles

- Frank Castle had seen hell. He had been to war, lost everything, and waged a bloody battle against crime. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, completely clueless dog should not have been the hardest mission of his life.

- It started with the growling. Mr. Pickles hated Frank’s boots. Every time Frank took a step, the dog charged at them like a feral beast, tiny tail wagging in pure, misplaced aggression. “You got a death wish, pal?” Frank muttered. Mr. Pickles barked once.

- Frank was not a dog person. But somehow, Mr. Pickles was determined to change that. He followed Frank around like a tiny, white shadow, completely ignoring the fact that Frank was actively trying to ignore him.

- At some point, Frank gave up. He sat down, glancing at the tiny beast sitting next to him. “Alright, you win,” he muttered. Mr. Pickles immediately rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs. Frank sighed, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

- By the time you came home, Frank was sitting on the couch, a tiny, snoring Mr. Pickles curled up beside him. He looked at you, completely serious. “Your dog is a menace,” he said. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. “…But he’s a good kid.”

Marc Spector & Mr. Pickles

- Marc Spector has fought gods, mercenaries, and monsters lurking in the shadows. He has survived betrayals, bloodshed, and nights spent drowning in his own mind. But he was not prepared for Mr. Pickles.

- The dog hated structure, which was a problem, because Marc thrived on it. He tried to set a routine—food at seven, walk at eight, no chewing on anything remotely important. Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had knocked over a lamp, chewed on Marc’s combat boots, and somehow disappeared inside a kitchen cabinet.

- Jake Lockley found him first. When Marc blinked, his reflection smirked and said, “El perrito es un desastre.” (The little dog is a disaster.) When he switched to Steven, he just heard a horrified, “Marc, he’s got your cape!”

- By the end of the night, Mr. Pickles was asleep on Marc’s chest, his tiny form rising and falling with each breath. Marc sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve fought Anubis. I’ve walked the path of the dead. And I was defeated… by you.”

- When you returned, you found Marc asleep on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up against his ribs. You kissed his temple, whispering, “So, how’d it go?” Marc cracked one eye open. “I think we made a blood pact,” he muttered. “Your dog owns me now.”

Johnny Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Storm thought babysitting Mr. Pickles would be easy. He was a superhero, a celebrity, a professional fun-haver. Dogs loved him. He loved dogs. It should have been a perfect match.

- He was wrong.

- The first issue arose within ten minutes. Johnny had turned his back for two seconds when he heard a crash. He spun around to find Mr. Pickles standing victoriously on top of a knocked-over shelf, a chewed-up sock in his mouth. Johnny pointed at him. “Okay, that’s strike one.”

- Strike two came when the dog managed to climb onto Johnny’s bed, get tangled in the sheets, and somehow turn on the ceiling fan. Johnny barely caught him before he became airborne. “Buddy, you cannot just try to take flight,” he scolded, untangling him.

- By strike three, Johnny had accepted defeat. He laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling, as Mr. Pickles happily licked his face. “You win, little dude. I can’t keep up.”

- When you got home, Johnny was half-asleep, Mr. Pickles curled up in his hoodie. He groaned dramatically. “You didn’t tell me you had a tiny, fluffy supervillain.” You smirked, ruffling his hair. “But you love him, right?” Johnny sighed. “…Yeah, okay. He’s cool.”

Reed Richards & Mr. Pickles

- Reed Richards has solved equations that baffle the greatest minds of the century. He has rewritten physics, built machines that defy reality, and held the fabric of the multiverse in his hands. But nothing could have prepared him for Mr. Pickles.

- It started as an experiment. Reed, ever the scientist, wanted to study the peculiar behavior of your fluffy, oblivious dog. “It’s fascinating,” he mused, adjusting his glasses as Mr. Pickles attempted to bite his own tail and immediately fell over.

- That fascination quickly turned into mild horror when Mr. Pickles found his way into the lab. Within seconds, he had knocked over a beaker, chewed on some incredibly important notes, and—somehow—turned on the molecular destabilizer.

- Reed had to stretch halfway across the room to shut it off before anything catastrophic happened. He picked up Mr. Pickles, holding him at arm’s length. “You, sir, are an anomaly.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, completely unbothered.

- By the time you came home, Reed was sitting on the couch, reading quantum mechanics to Mr. Pickles, who was dozing on his lap. He adjusted his glasses. “He’s… quite the experiment.” You laughed, kissing his cheek. “But you love him, right?” Reed hesitated, then sighed. “…I suppose I do.”

Ben Grimm & Mr. Pickles

- Ben Grimm, the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing, had faced cosmic horrors, supervillains, and existential crises. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, dumb dog should’ve been easy. It was not.

- Within the first five minutes, Mr. Pickles had somehow gotten himself stuck under the couch. Ben sighed, reaching under with his massive hand and plucking the tiny dog up like a stubborn sock. “Kid, I’m tellin’ ya, you got no survival instincts.”

- Mr. Pickles, undeterred, immediately tried to chew on Ben’s massive rocky fingers. Ben raised a brow. “Oh, so you wanna scrap, huh?” The dog growled playfully, yapping at him with all the confidence of a creature who had never faced consequences.

- Eventually, Ben sat on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up on his lap, snoring. He huffed, crossing his arms. “Ain’t no one better tell Reed about this. I got a reputation.”

- When you came back, you grinned at the sight of them together. “So, did you two bond?” Ben scoffed. “Bond? Nah. But… maybe he ain’t so bad. For a troublemaker.” Mr. Pickles snored louder. “…Yeah, yeah, I get it. You win, furball.”

Susan Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Susan Storm had dealt with far worse than a tiny, fluffy dog. Or so she thought.

- At first, everything was fine. Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, looking deceptively innocent. Susan smiled. “Oh, you’re adorable. This will be easy.” She would regret saying that.

- The second she turned around, Mr. Pickles vanished. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. Susan searched the Baxter Building, using her invisibility to sneak up on him. She found him in Reed’s lab, chewing on a very expensive-looking piece of tech.

- “Oh no, no, no—bad dog!” She swooped in, scooping him up before he could cause an explosion. Mr. Pickles licked her nose. She sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

- By the time you got back, Susan was sitting on the couch, petting Mr. Pickles with one hand while rubbing her temple with the other. You grinned. “So, how did it go?” She gave you a tired smile. “…I love you, but next time, Johnny is babysitting.”

Felicia Hardy & Mr. Pickles

- Felicia Hardy had done a lot of reckless things in her life. She had stolen diamonds from locked vaults, toyed with superheroes, danced along the razor’s edge of disaster. But Mr. Pickles? He was a different kind of challenge.

- At first, she wasn’t impressed. “This is the little menace?” she had said, eyeing him. Then, five minutes later, she was chasing him around the apartment, cursing under her breath as he dodged every attempt to catch him.

- She realized, with a sort of begrudging admiration, that Mr. Pickles was fast. He slipped through her fingers, ducked under tables, and even managed to knock over a priceless antique vase she had definitely stolen.

- By the end of the night, Felicia had completely given in. She sat on the floor, watching as Mr. Pickles happily gnawed on a stolen hair tie. “You’re a little criminal,” she murmured, “and I kinda respect it.”

- When you came home, you found Felicia curled up on the couch, Mr. Pickles sleeping on her stomach. She cracked an eye open and smirked. “He’s growing on me.” You grinned. “So you love him?” Felicia stretched, running her fingers through his fur. “…Yeah. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Stephen Strange & Mr. Pickles

- Stephen Strange was one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. He had traveled across dimensions, held the fate of the universe in his hands, bargained with cosmic entities. Babysitting Mr. Pickles should have been beneath him.

- And yet, here he was, standing in his Sanctum Sanctorum, staring at the tiny, fluffy creature wreaking absolute havoc. “No,” he said flatly as Mr. Pickles climbed onto the Cloak of Levitation, chewed on the enchanted embroidery, and then tried to ride it like a tiny, ill-advised chariot.

- Wong walked in, took one look at the chaos, and turned right back around. “Not my problem.”

- Stephen sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, you little menace. You’ve bested gods and mystics alike. What do you want?” Mr. Pickles barked once, wagging his tail. “Of course. Attention.”

- When you returned, Stephen was sitting in his armchair, the Cloak of Levitation draped around both him and Mr. Pickles. He didn’t even look up as you entered. “Your dog has no respect for the eldritch arts.” You bit back a laugh. “But you love him, right?” Stephen sighed dramatically. “…Against my better judgment, yes.”

Namor & Mr. Pickles

- Namor, King of Atlantis, First Mutant, Imperius Rex—babysitting a tiny, fluffy, absurdly dumb land creature was beneath him. He had ruled for centuries, waged wars, and stood against titans. And yet, you had looked at him with those eyes, and suddenly, here he was.

- Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had launched himself into a decorative Atlantean fountain, paddling with all the grace of a drowning pearl diver. Namor, unimpressed, crossed his arms. “You are not suited for the ocean, tiny beast.” Mr. Pickles barked, thrilled.

- The palace was not meant for creatures like him. In the span of an hour, he had chewed on an ancient scroll, attempted to befriend a very unamused sea serpent, and somehow found his way into the throne room, where he proudly sat upon Namor’s throne. The royal guards had never been more confused.

- By the time you returned, Namor stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as Mr. Pickles wagged his tail at his feet. “Your creature is reckless, absurdly ill-equipped for survival, and entirely too confident for his own good.” You bit back a smile. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

- He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Against my better judgment, I will tolerate him.” You knelt, scooping Mr. Pickles into your arms. “Oh, so you love him?” Namor scoffed, turning on his heel. “Do not push your luck.” But the way Mr. Pickles trotted after him suggested otherwise.

Johnny Blaze & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Blaze, the Ghost Rider, had made a deal with the Devil himself—but even Mephisto hadn’t prepared him for Mr. Pickles. He was expecting something manageable, maybe even chill. Instead, he got a tiny, fluffy tornado of chaos.

- Mr. Pickles immediately attempted to fight his motorcycle. Not sniff it. Not inspect it. Fight it. The little thing barked furiously at the flaming wheels, jumping up in a wild, futile attempt to bite them. Johnny had seen demons with more self-preservation.

- When Johnny tried to take a nap, Mr. Pickles climbed onto his chest, stared directly into his soul, and promptly sneezed on his face. Johnny wiped his face with a groan. “You’re lucky you’re cute, man.”

- At some point, the dog managed to run off with Johnny’s favorite leather jacket. By the time he caught him, Mr. Pickles was rolling around in it like it was his new personal throne. Johnny narrowed his eyes. “…Alright. You win. It’s yours now.”

- When you got home, you found Johnny on the couch, absently scratching Mr. Pickles’ ears. You grinned. “So, how’d it go?” Johnny sighed. “I think I just sold my soul again. To your dog.”

Eddie Brock / Venom & Mr. Pickles

- Eddie Brock had Venom. You had Mr. Pickles. The problem was that Venom did not understand why Mr. Pickles existed.

- “Is it prey?” Venom asked within the first five minutes. Eddie sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, buddy. It’s a pet.” Venom tilted its head. “We do not eat it?” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail obliviously. “No. We do not eat it.”

- Venom, unfortunately, did not like competition. Mr. Pickles demanded attention. Venom demanded you. The standoff began immediately. Eddie woke up to find Mr. Pickles asleep on his chest, while Venom loomed above him like a shadow, glowering.

- It only got worse when Mr. Pickles stole Eddie’s sandwich. Venom raged. “The creature has taken OUR food! We must retaliate!” Eddie sighed, watching as Mr. Pickles happily chewed on his stolen prize. “Yeah, buddy. I don’t think we’re winning this war.”

- When you returned, Eddie sat on the couch, Venom’s tendrils twitching in irritation, Mr. Pickles napping peacefully on his lap. You grinned. “Venom, did you make a friend?” Venom hissed. “He is an adversary.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “…Yeah. That means yes.”

T’Challa & Mr. Pickles

- T’Challa had fought in battles that shaped history, had led a nation, had outmaneuvered gods and kings. He had not, however, anticipated Mr. Pickles.

- Shuri was absolutely delighted. She took one look at the tiny, ridiculous dog and immediately declared, “He is my favorite guest.” T’Challa, arms crossed, simply said, “He is… something.”

- Mr. Pickles was determined to challenge every Wakandan security measure. Within an hour, he had gotten past two Dora Milaje, slipped into the royal chambers, and was found happily wagging his tail atop the Vibranium throne.

- Okoye was not amused. Shuri was entertained. T’Challa sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “This dog fears nothing.” Shuri smirked. “Much like someone else I know.”

- By the time you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up beside T’Challa, who was absentmindedly scratching behind his ears. You crossed your arms. “So, do you love him?” T’Challa did not look up. “…I tolerate him.” Mr. Pickles licked his hand. “…Perhaps a little more than that.”

Elektra Natchios & Mr. Pickles

- Elektra had survived assassins, taken down empires, and danced in the dark with death itself. She was elegant, precise, a living weapon. Mr. Pickles, on the other hand, was a small, fluffy ball of pure idiocy.

- He immediately tried to steal one of her sais. She watched, unimpressed, as he grabbed the handle in his tiny jaws and attempted to run away. He tripped, rolled over, and barked at the ceiling in defiance. She had seen warriors with less determination.

- Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself watching him, observing. There was something admirable about his foolish bravery. His absolute lack of fear. The way he took up space despite his size.

- Eventually, he curled up next to her, snuggling against her side. Elektra, without thinking, ran her fingers through his soft fur. She had never had a pet before. She had never let herself want one. But this? This, she could allow.

- When you returned, Elektra simply looked at you, one hand still on Mr. Pickles’ back. You smirked. “So… you love him?” She arched a brow. “Love is a strong word.” Mr. Pickles snored softly against her. “…But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

Victor von Doom & Mr. Pickles

- Doom did not babysit. Doom did not serve. Doom did not tolerate fools. And yet, here he was.

- He stared at Mr. Pickles. Mr. Pickles stared back, tail wagging. Doom narrowed his eyes. “You are beneath me.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. Doom scowled. “Cease.” Mr. Pickles barked again.

- The dog, completely oblivious to the concept of fear, followed Doom around Latveria. At some point, he clambered onto Doom’s throne, tail thumping against the armrest. The royal guards exchanged nervous glances. Doom exhaled slowly. “I despise this.”

- However, when a diplomat dared to insult Doom, Mr. Pickles yapped aggressively, standing protectively in front of him. Doom observed this. “Hmph. At least you recognize greatness.”

- When you returned, Doom crossed his arms. “Your creature is an idiot.” You smiled. “But did you like him?” Doom huffed. “Doom tolerates him. Nothing more.” Mr. Pickles jumped into his lap. Doom sighed. “…Fine. Perhaps a little more.”

Peter Quill & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Quill thought babysitting a tiny dog would be easier than babysitting Rocket. He was wrong.

- “Okay, little dude, let’s make this easy.” Mr. Pickles promptly stole one of his mixtapes. “HEY! That’s vintage!” A chase ensued across the Milano, Star-Lord versus a fluffy menace.

- Eventually, Peter gave up. Mr. Pickles sat triumphantly atop his pillow, the mixtape still in his mouth. Peter sighed. “You’re lucky I got a soft spot for troublemakers.”

- The dog, realizing he had won, curled up beside him. Peter smirked. “Alright, fine. You can stay.” Mr. Pickles snuggled closer. Peter grumbled. “…Don’t tell Rocket about this.”

- When you got back, you found them both asleep on the couch. You whispered, “So, how did it go?” Without opening his eyes, Peter muttered, “I think I just lost my ship to your dog.”

Nova & Mr. Pickles

- Richard Rider had fought space tyrants, cosmic gods, and existential threats. Mr. Pickles, somehow, was worse.

- Mr. Pickles had no concept of galactic law. Within minutes, he had tried to steal a Nova Corps helmet, chewed on an important report, and attempted to fight a very confused alien.

- Richard sighed, picking up the tiny menace. “Okay, dude. I don’t have time for intergalactic incidents. Work with me here.” Mr. Pickles licked his face. Richard groaned. “…I give up.”

- By the end of the day, the entire Nova Corps had begrudgingly accepted Mr. Pickles. Someone even made him a tiny Nova helmet. Richard just sighed. “I am never living this down.”

- When you returned, Richard handed Mr. Pickles to you. “Your dog is now an honorary Nova Corps member.” You laughed. “So, did you love him?” Richard huffed. “…He’s alright.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. “…Fine. Maybe a little more than alright.”

[promenadewithme]

Twelve days of Christmas - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! reader Word Count: 1.8K words Warnings: sexual innuendo, mentions of sex, slight angst, established marriage, divorce, the holidays, idk what triggers you so tell me if I should add anything else. a.n.: sorry for taking a few days to upload this, i've been christmas shopping and got down with some kind of flu that has me feeling unwell. I promise I'll post more if you guys like this, though.

part 1 part 2 part 3

“He’s getting away, Barnes” Stark reprimanded through the com in James’ ear “Forget to eat breakfast today? Where is that abiding need to keep the streets of New York safe? That unwavering stamina? Don’t tell me you’re getting old.”

The pokes had him grinding his teeth and stomping harder down the stairs. He forced himself to calmly answer “Your mother had no complaints last night.”

A distant cackle came through the com, which he imagined could have only been Thor, before Stark quipped “Then where the hell is your head at, Barnes?”

At my daughter’s recital that started 40 minutes ago all the way across town, thanks for asking. James thought with a moody frown on his face as he started jumping down the flights of stairs.

“Why don’t you do the chasing for a change?” he sassed, catching a glimpse of the assailant’s clothes just as he turned a corner.

Having been in the military as a young adult, one would expect more respect for the boss. But James was cranky, would rather be with his family, and was not in the mood for Stark’s cockiness. Besides, he was the best private detective in the agency and Stark knew it.

James picked up his pace, mere meters away from the target, only for the emergency exit door to slam open into the criminals’ face, with none other than Tony Stark on the other side.

“I don’t do the running.” He answered, smugness written all over his face “That’s what I pay you for.”

With a roll of his eyes and a huff, James bent down to search the man’s pockets. Two guns, four knives and what sure looked a lot like chloroform, were handed over to Bruce – the forensics guy, who accepted them with a tight-lipped awkward smile.

The man on the floor, a stalker that had been chasing one of their clients for the past months, attempted to get up. ‘Attempted’ being the key word considering James handcuffed him in seconds, getting halfway to the vehicle before his boss could reach him.

“Nice work today, kid.” He praised as James closed the door to the police car that waited outside.

Stark had friends in very important places, friends who appreciated the help that his company provided. Both monetary and otherwise. The police force was one of them, despite their motto being ‘doing all the men in blue could not do’.

“Thanks, man.” He replied while nodding at Steve, the police officer they usually worked with and his childhood friend.

“You can go home now; I’ve got it from here.” Stark patted his back as Steve drove away.

“I still have to write up the report and tell our client we caught the guy.”

In all honesty, James didn’t know why he didn’t accept. He wanted to go home, to go to his wife and baby girl. He also knew that he had a job to do, a job that wouldn’t finish itself.

“I’ll do that.” He reassured, earning an eyebrow raise from James, who was sure he had never touched paperwork in his life. With a huff and an eyeroll, he admitted “Fine, I’ll get Pepper to do it.”

“Pepper already has enough on her plate having to babysit you.” James replied, walking to his car.

Tony followed close behind “How about you let me worry about Pepper and you go home to your wife. Unless you want to do it the other way around, I’d be fine with that too. Tell me, how has beautiful (y/n) been - ”

He was cut off by a low growl emitted from James’ throat. His wife was beautiful, it was a fact, one he did not mind people noticing. Except when it came to Tony, the biggest playboy known to man.

“Down boy.” Stark lifted his hands in surrender “You should really let go of all that pent up energy. You know, there’s this reiki place down the street from - ”

“I don’t need to unwind.” He lied through his teeth.

James desperately needed to let it all out, preferably in his wife. The problem was that most days he got home after you were fast asleep and left before you awoke. It was hell, it was torture. It meant jacking off in the shower to the thought of you while being careful to not make too much noise, even though it was never really enough, not the same as you. It meant having way too much sexual energy and lashing out on everyone.

“Whatever you say, Barnes.” He sighed in defeat “But I do think you should take the rest of the year off. You’ve been my top employee of the year, it’s almost Christmas, just… Have a little fun for once. Take your wife on a date, take your kid ice skating, hell go crazy and rent a cabin in the woods. As much as this James is good for business, I miss the old Bucky. Corny and in love as he might have been, he was also a pretty decent guy. Besides, the clients are starting to get scared of that scowl of yours.”

Maybe it was time for a break; to spend some time with his girls, God knows he missed them.

“I’ll think about it.” He nodded, unlocking his car.

And that he did. James thought about it on the slow drive to Olivia’s school, he thought about it when he saw that all the chairs were already stacked, he thought about it on his way home, and when he saw your disappointed face as he walked through the door.

You looked so beautiful, all dolled up and Christmassy. You also looked broken, tired. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion it was because of him.

Closing the door behind him, he measured his next words, but nothing came out. No excuses, no explanations. He knew he was running; he just didn’t know why.

“You missed her recital.” Your voice came out hoarse and he realized your eyes were puffy. The realization that he had made you cry made James’ heart sink to his stomach.

“I know.” He whispered, feet plastered to the floor, unable to move from the door. Like he was ready to bolt at any moment.

“You are never home.”

“I know.”

“You come home after midnight every single day.”

“I know.”

“She misses you, I-” you halted before admitting “I miss you.”

That was when he found it in himself to move, to kneel before you and kiss both your hands while apologizing.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Left his lips with every kiss he planted all over your hands, before resting his face on your thighs.

Tears filled your eyes again and it took all your strength not to back down, but you said it.

“James, I want a divorce.”

His heart stopped, and it sped, and it broke into a million pieces. You watched as his head slowly rose, his distressed gaze meeting yours.

“What?” he couldn’t have heard you right, could he? There was no way he could have messed up this badly.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You said, voice breaking “I can’t wake up every day knowing you won’t be here, I can’t listen to you coming home in the middle of the night and leaving before I can say goodbye, I don’t know what to do for you to love me. I’ve tried everything and I never seem to be enough for you.”

“No, doll, please.” He looked deep into your soul, holding both of your hands, afraid that if he let go, he would lose you forever, knowing there was a chance he already had “I love you. I love you so much. Please, we can work this out. Don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” you seethed, untangling your hands from his and standing “No, James, I’m not the one who is leaving. You are the one who left. You are the one who runs away from his family, who overworks, who jerks himself off in the middle of the night instead of having sex with his own wife, who doesn’t even care to show up. If you truly loved me, if you loved us, you would be here. You would have been there today, when Liv needed you present.”

“I know I messed up but let me make it up to you. I can be present, I can come home earlier, I want to have sex with you.” He was on his knees; he did not know what he could say to make you believe him.

“James, it’s been eight months since I had an orgasm.” You said, walking into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. Anything to ease your nerves “I want a divorce.”

He followed you like a lost puppy; it would have been cute if your heart wasn’t weeping. James racked his brain, thinking of anything that could make you stay, that could help you change your mind. You were stubborn, the only person who could ever make you soft was Livvie. It was like a lightbulb went on in his brain. Liv. She was the key, the bond.

“Okay.” He said, even though it was the last thing he meant.

“What?”

It was what you wanted, right? So why did it feel like someone stepped on the already shattered pieces of your heart? Maybe, deep down, you wished he would fight for you.

“We can get a divorce.” He nodded slowly “But I want to give Olivia one last happy Christmas. Think about what it would do to her little mind if we separated during the holidays. It’s what, ten days till Christmas now?”

“Twelve as of tomorrow.” You answer, seeing his point.

“Stark gave me the rest of the year off. Let’s make the happiest memories with her, ones she will remember and not be traumatized by, let her have one last Christmas. Let us have one last Christmas.”

 You considered his words. Liv was six now, she was definitely old enough to remember this divorce and James was right, it could potentially make the holidays traumatic in some way. That was the last thing you wanted. It was only twelve days, right? What’s the worst that could happen?

“Alright.” You conceded and James let out the air he was holding in “Twelve days.”

“We pretend nothing happened, we act happy and in love, we make this the perfect Christmas. Deal?” he outstretched his hand, afraid that any other form of contact would make you push him away.

“Deal.” You took his hand, letting it linger as you looked into his somber grey eyes. Oh, how you would miss those, how you missed them already.

What to Liv would be the perfect Christmas, to you was the hardest goodbye. Would you be able to spend 12 days without changing your mind? Would James be able to spend them without letting you down again? Remember all the times he wasn’t there. A small voice uttered in your mind. It was enough for you to remove your hand from his and say goodnight. Twelve days would go by in a flash, you could do this. For Liv.

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divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I do acknowledge that the Marvel writers were, to a certain extent, trapped in production hell when it came to adapting Clint Barton into the MCU and I do appreciate the glimpses of his comic personality that they managed to sneak into the MCU. Some of my favorites include but are not limited to:

“Look the city is-is flying. The city is flying. We’re fighting an army of robots. And I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense”

When faced with a completely unknown opponent who’s clearly some kind of enhanced the middle of a fight: “We haven’t met yet, I’m Clint.”

“Nobody would know. Nobody. Last I saw him an Ultron was sitting on him. Yeah I miss him already that quick little bastard.”

“Unfortunately, he’s still Barton” “Oh that’s terrible” Because he’s a little SHIT

“You’re no match for him Cap.” “Thanks Barton”

Hits a bullseye on the dart board half a centimeter from Tony’s face with absolutely no warning just because he can

In THE maximum security prison getting lectured by Tony Stark: “Blah blah blah…”

Actively lying on the floor after getting his shit rocked by a child: “Yeah you better run.”

Smugly, towards the aforementioned child: “What? You didn’t see that coming?”

Doesn’t tell his teammates that he’s taking them to his secret farmhouse in the middle of nowhere where he has a secret family. Also does not tell his wife that he’s bringing the entire Avengers lineup to her house. Because he’s a dramatic bitch with abysmal communication skills.

Does a stupid little dramatic flourish just to shoot an arrow into the fucking wall in front of literally no one but Wanda. Just for funsies.

Is played by Jeremy Renner, who I can’t Google without learning about his latest life-threatening injury. On brand.

Turns his hearing aids off at a bad musical

“Good thing they call you HawkEYE and not HawkEAR” “Hahaha. Block. Delete.” (100% did not block and delete)

Casually boards the subway after a whole entire car chase

“And the Challenger gets wrecked anyway!”

“How’s my apartment?” “…crispy”

“Sorry Santa!”

“You rely too much on technology” “Well my weapon of choice is a stick and a string”

“I’ve been taking karate since I was five” “Oh so last year?”

“Oh hey… I know you” Casually hands over the most powerful weapon in the universe.

To an actual literal owl after he just jumped out the window of a skyscraper and landed in the Time Square Christmas tree “…hey”

“Clint where are you?” “I’m in the tree!” “What? Which tree?” “THE three!”

[sunflowerwinds]

second guessing [h.c]

summary: hazel makes the mistake of getting caught up in her studies at stark industries, causing you to question your relationship. may has a talk with hazel about what she sees as more important: you or her future?

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature language and content, spider!hazel, smoking cannabis, relationship angst, pass relationship trauma, pj & may being real ones, hazel’s deceased parents mentioned.

word count: 4.1K

a/n: HELLO!! HI!! after i can’t even remember how long it’s been since the last update :/ but i am so so so excited to get back into spider-hazel! i hope everyone enjoys <3

SPIDER-HAZEL MASTERLIST!

“So why exactly am I here?”

Hazel was walking with Tony and Happy down the lengthy hallways made of glass windows. She had swung in through the window and quickly changed into a normal outfit, sporting a multi-patterned button-up with a brown sweater vest and dark blue jeans with her white beaten-down Converse. She always felt so out of place when she had to be at Stark Industries.

Here, a broke nineteen-year-old college girl in the most casual outfit, amongst scientists of all fields in the fanciest and most expensive suits. She’s pretty sure everything on her body was thrifted.

They passed Josie’s office where she was typing god-knows-what into her computer. She perked up at the sight of Hazel, waving a friendly hand. Hazel reciprocates the motion, and Josie points with narrowed eyes at Happy’s figure. Happy’s eyes widened in… fear?

“You’re a filthy cheat, Hogan. I started another game,” Josie threatens as she clicks out of something on her desktop.

Happy looked like he wanted to say something but kept quiet for the time being. Hazel swore she saw Tony smiling to himself.

When Tony didn’t answer her question earlier, her eyes widened as she thought of the car chase yesterday afternoon. The bill.

“If this is about the bill for the damaged car, I-I completely forgot to tell you about it. That was my bad.” Hazel spluttered out, fidgeting with the rings covering her fingers.

This made the powerful man turn his head slightly to the side as they continued to walk.

“Kid, what damaged car?” He questioned Hazel, brows setting that intimidating furrow.

Hazel shook her head and pursed her lips. “Nothing. I’m sure it was nothing.”

Tony then glanced at Happy who shrugged. They exchanged so many words in such little silence. Hazel blew out a breath of air as they rounded a corner into someplace she was familiar with.

The three entered Dr. Connors's office where the man was standing and flipping through files. Tony knocked on the glass door with a single knuckle, capturing the blonde man's attention.

“Dr. Connors,” Tony nodded his head with a professional smile on his lips.

“Mr. Stark,” he replied with the same gesture. “Happy.”

Hazel straightened her aching back from the previous day, eyes bouncing from every knick-knack in Connor's office. The second she entered the space yesterday, a weird tingle had traveled down her spine every time. There was something eerie about Dr. Connors in a way that she couldn’t explain.

But Mr.Stark trusted him so she would learn to trust him too.

Connors turned to Hazel’s figure. “Miss Callahan, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Dr. Connors,” she replied with a charming smile.

“Now, kid, Dr.Connors, as you know, is in need of some assistance with his cross-species genetics project,” Hazel nodded to confirm she was listening, glancing down at the missing part of Dr. Connor's arm. “I, so brilliantly, suggested that you can take this on as a… trial run to see how big that brain of yours really is.”

Dr. Connors's eyes flicker to Hazel who curtly nods.

“I’ve never really worked on cross-species genetics, Dr.Connors, so fair warning,” Hazel jokes with a nervous chuckle.

“Well if you’re as gifted as Mr.Stark says you are, I’m sure you’ll pick up everything rather quickly.”

Hazel beams at Tony who just stares at Dr.Connors like he had been caught doing something out of the ordinary. This gave her a little pep in her step to know that Tony Stark had praised at least one person about her intelligence.

“Gifted?” Hazel recites, looking at Happy with a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, don’t let it get to your mullet-y head, kid,” Tony quipped as he tugged down his sleeves. “To the lab, Dr.Connors?”

Happy had a knowing look on his face at the way Tony quickly changed the subject, throwing Hazel a discrete wink. Dr.Connors even held an amused grin at his urgency to move on. Hazel hopped excitedly behind Happy and Tony, alongside Connors as they made their way to the lab in Stark Towers.

Tony Stark thinks she’s intelligent.

“So what exactly do you mean she just disappeared?” PJ questioned while she rummaged through her brown corduroy bag.

After waking up this morning to see an empty bed and all of Hazel’s stuff gone, a wave of sadness fell over you. You understood that her internship sometimes called for her to come in the early hours of the morning but it didn’t ease your anxious mind when she would just not answer your texts or calls.

When call five again went straight to voicemail, irritation flooded your system. It was your day off and you didn’t want to stress over Hazel’s disappearance.

You were quick to text PJ to ask her if she could bring some of her weed as a stress reliever. PJ was at your door within minutes, a cheeky grin on her face. You led her to your room and propped open your window so that the two of you could smoke on the fire escape. You sat on the ground, back against the brick walls with a pillow underneath you while PJ sat in front of you on the stairs, her purse in her lap.

“She slept over last night and it was so nice, you know? I woke up this morning, excited to spend one of my days off with her and she’s gone.” You sigh as you lean your head on the red brick.

PJ smacks her lips as she whispers a ‘Where the hell are they?’ before lifting her head up to nod at your words to show she was actively listening.

“It’s that Tony Stark shit, right?” PJ questioned as she continued to rummage through her messy bag for her pre-rolled joints.

“Yeah, but am I being too… clingy? Or overreacting or something?” You ask PJ as you twiddle with the ends of your gray sweats.

PJ deadpanned to you as she sternly shook her head. Her slightly frizzy wavy hair bounced with the motion.

“No! You are a worried girlfriend, dude,” she continued to shake her head.

PJ’s hands pull out of her bag and hold up a retro tin box that reads ‘I can’t cook, Who cares?’ that she had probably found at an antique store.

“Come on, we gotta take your mind off that shit. Do you have a light?” PJ excitedly grinned as she bounced her knees from where she was sitting across from you, her red and white basketball shorts shifting up her thighs.

You nod with a snort as you lean over to your bedroom window to snatch it from your bedside table. As you’re backing out, you notice a few dirt marks on the window sill that look like tennis shoe imprints. Like Hazel’s Converse, now that you’re staring at it more and more.

Huh. Interesting.

You place the black lighter in PJ’s palm with a tight-lipped grin. PJ took a singular joint out of the tin box and held it between her lips. She flickered on the flame, shielding it with a cupped palm. You watched the end lit a faint red as PJ sucked in a deep breath.

She coughed a bit as she handed it to you, blowing out the smoke with a relieved sigh. You take the warm joint in between your middle finger and thumb to breathe in the relaxing toxin.

“So, are you going to break up with her?” PJ hummed as she tilted her head at you.

You coughed harshly in shock at the bluntness of the question. The smoke left your lips in a staggered pattern as you waved it away.

“What the fuck? No,” you chuckle as you hand the joint back to her after taking a smaller hit. “I think we just need to have a talk about this.”

PJ took a long hit between her pointer and middle finger, nodding slowly. Her eyebrows raise which causes you to scrunch up your face in confusion.

“I’m just saying this sounds oddly familiar,” PJ sing-songed as she blew out the smoke in your face.

A stab of fear entered your system for a moment. No. Hazel wasn’t like her. She would never do what she had done to you.

“I know her, P. She’s not like… you know,” you defend your girlfriend.

PJ passed the joint back to you, jerking a bit at the sudden honk coming from the streets below. You take it from her to take another long drag, wanting to be nearly light-headed.

“Okay, if you say so but let’s not worry about that right now. Are you hungry?” PJ quipped with a small grin.

“Oh shit, yeah. We can make sandwiches.” You nod slowly, taking another small drag from the joint.

“Let’s finish this first, actually before we get inside. I know your uncle would, like, flip the fuck out if he smelt this in your apartment.” PJ began to giggle softly, shaking her head as she leaned against the rusted railing of the stairs.

You hum with a content smile, Hazel being long gone from your mind within seconds. Whatever. It’s nothing. The situation was under your control and definitely was not Hazel keeping secrets from you.

Nope. Not one bit.

You were getting high with a friend, letting the midday sun pour into your system as you let your mind wander away from your distant girlfriend—

Wait, were you going to get a sunburn? Or sun poisoning?

Hazel was so fucked. So completely fucked.

When she had checked her phone after her hours with Dr.Connors accumulating the perfect formula for the cross-species genetics, she saw phone calls and text messages from you, May, and PJ.

You had called her 10 times and texted her 15 times while May and PJ were only twice with each. The first few texts were just: ‘Hello?’ and ‘Where did you go this morning?’. The messages then turned more concerned for her well-being: ‘Haze, baby, are you okay?’

Hazel sprinted out of the lab, shouting an apology to Dr.Connors as her Converse squeaked against the tile floors. She made a b-line to the stairs door to hurry to the roof. She snatched her backpack that she had thrown up here when she had arrived at Stark Towers. She practically rips it open to stuff her clothes into and slides her mask over her face.

Hazel anxiously jumps off the ledge, the whole city becoming a permanent image in her brain. Her arms ached as she swung from building to building, her anxiety at its peak.

“Karen, can you check Honey’s location? Please?” Hazel asked as she swung herself to land on a sign of a movie theater.

“Locating honey,” Karen repeats back in her robotic voice. Within seconds, Karen speaks up once again to say: “Honey’s location is in the alleyway between Dunkin’ Donuts and Wo Kee Noodle on 168th Street. According to satellites, she is not alone.”

Hazel’s heart dropped at Karen’s words. She immediately began to follow the tracker within the inside of her mask, an awful sense of fear in her stomach.

“Karen, how many other people are there?” Hazel asked as she rounded a corner, using two web strings to tug herself up and onto the roof of the buildings.

“I am detecting two other cellular devices.”

“Shit,” Hazel muttered to herself as she ran down the rooftops on 166th to get to 168th.

It was past 7 pm, the sun was on the cusp of disappearing on the horizon. Hazel couldn’t bear the thought of you getting caught up in a mugging or having done something against your will. You knew how to handle yourself and she knew that.

But against two people? You were only one person.

Lingering in the darkness, Hazel peeked over the rooftop of the Woo Kee Noodle to see if you were in fact getting mugged or worse. From what she could see from the weird above angle, you were surrounded by her Aunt May and your Uncle Karter.

Guilt flowed through Hazel’s veins at the sight of you in a quite obviously distracted state as your uncle and her aunt tried to assure you that she was okay. You held your cup of noodles to your chest, stabbing into the cardboard cup with a worried look on your face.

Hazel couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like the worst person in the world. Seeing you like this was a slap to the face.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure Hazel’s gonna text or call soon saying she was up in that Stark Tower all day,” May rubbed your back to rest her head on yours.

“No, I know. I just… She’s been distant recently.” You admit, taking a bite of your noodles with a sigh. “Am I going crazy? Am I overthinking it?”

“Bee, I’m sure she’ll text or call you soon. Don’t stress it too much.” Karter nodded his head, his tone indifferent.

Hazel cursed at herself mentally, backing up slowly on the roof to not draw attention to herself. She sprints off of the roof to shoot her web towards the next tallest building to swing to your fire escape.

You, while eating your food with May and Karter, for some reason glanced up at the deep blue night sky, eyes squinting as you swore you saw a flash of blue and red. No, Spider-Woman kept more towards the city. God, you were driving yourself up the wall with Hazel being MIA.

“I think it’s time to go home, Bee,” Karter spoke up with a small grin.

You nod weakly in agreement, giving May the same smile. The three of you take the METRO to May’s apartment building first, sadly seeing no sign of Hazel. May gave you a kiss on the cheek and your uncle a friendly hug, assuring you that Hazel would be home soon and she would give her the scolding of a lifetime.

The whole bus ride home, you rest your head on your uncle’s shoulder as you blast music through your headphones. Once you arrived home, you tossed your empty box in the recycle bin and told Karter ‘goodnight’. You made a B-line to your bedroom as your headphones were still destroying your eardrums.

You twist your doorknob open and push the door open, looking down at your shoes as you peel them off. Your brows furrow as you feel a sudden breeze. Did you leave the window open?

You glance over at your bed, letting out a shout of shock when you see Hazel, panting slightly as she holds a weak smile on her lips. You moved your headphones off your head to rest on your neck and shoulders, staring at Hazel in disbelief.

“What the hell? You scared the shit out of me,” you held your rapidly beating chest, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For being distant, for not answering you whatsoever today. All of it.” Hazel blurted out, her leg bouncing nervously.

You shoot your eyes open at her apology, letting your bag slip off your shoulder onto the ground beside your door. You walk over to plop down on the bed beside her, sighing softly.

“I accept your apology, babe, but,” you suck in a deep breath, “why have you been so distant recently? Other than the Stark Internship because I know it’s something else, Hazel.”

Hazel stayed silent for a moment, her shoes and her heavy breathing were the only sounds that you could hear. She can’t. She wants to so so badly to ease your mind but Mr.Stark said she can’t risk your life.

“I… can’t tell you,” Hazel winced as she spoke, rubbing her hands over her face.

She can’t bring herself to look at you.

“You can’t tell me?” You repeat in confusion, a twinge of sadness in your voice.

“I-I want to tell you. I really do but I can’t. I’m sorry,” Hazel begs for you to just move on from the subject.

You stand up from your bed, shaking your head in disbelief. You let out a scoff at her words, a bubble of anger rising up to your throat.

“Hazel, that doesn’t ease my mind whatsoever. Do you understand how that makes me feel?” You try to keep your voice at a normal volume but this argument, just like PJ had pointed out earlier, felt all too familiar.

Hazel finally locked eyes with you, revealing her glazed-over blue eyes. You’ve never had such a serious conversation with her. It’s been smooth sailing from the first date you two went on and now you’re questioning if she even wants to be with you. Her words seemed genuine.

Seemed.

“I don’t know what else to say,” Hazel whispered.

“You need to go home, Haze. May is worried about you,” you respond, not knowing what to say either.

Hazel didn’t want to leave but what else was she to do? You were obviously upset and there wasn’t anything she could do. She couldn’t give you the one thing you wanted, which was the truth.

Hazel nods in understanding and you bite back the heavy tears that were threatening to fall from your tired eyes. She grabs her backpack that was placed next to your rug, giving you one last look. You avoided her gaze as she leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You shut your eyes at the gentle touch, the first tear falling from your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hazel muttered one last time as she left your bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

The second you heard the front door lock shut, a heavy sob let your lips. The tears came pouring out of your eyes as you walked over to your bed. You were exhausted and didn’t even bother changing out of your outside clothes. Plopping down onto the soft mattress, you grabbed the knitted blanket that you kept at the end of your bed to lift over your body to shield yourself from the room.

“Bee?” You heard your uncle speak softly through the door.

“I’m fine,” you reply, sniffling and wiping your damp cheeks.

“Are you sure?” He pressed.

You shut your eyes as your bottom lip wobbled.

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Tomorrow, please?” Your voice cracked as you begged for him to leave you alone.

You listen to the sound of his footsteps receding, letting out a shaky breath of relief as you shut your heavy eyes. Minutes later, you fell asleep with a sense of sadness about the state of your relationship.

Hazel approached her apartment door with hot tears in her eyes, sniffling and wiping underneath her nose. She reached to pull her key out of her pocket only to find that it wasn't there. She lets out soft curses before knocking on the door a few times.

Seconds after, the door locks twist from the inside and squeak open. May stands at the doorway with a wave of silent anger.

“Hey Aunt May, I’m sorry. I lost my key and—”

“Save it. Get in and sit down,” May cuts her off and steps to the side as she jerks her thumb into the small apartment.

Hazel closes her mouth without question as she rushes into the house and sets her bag down on the couch. She sits on the left side, immediately twisting her middle finger band around her finger. May shut the door with a soft sigh before walking over to Hazel who had yet to look at her.

“What’s going on, huh?” May questions, standing in front of Hazel’s seated place on the couch. “I mean it. Don’t lie to me, okay? I’m not, you know, trying to attack you. I want to help you in whatever way I can, sweetheart.”

Hazel looked up as tears fell from her deep blue eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

“I think I’m screwing up my relationship,” Hazel admits.

May looks at her niece with understanding. She makes her over to the empty side of the couch to plop down next to Hazel with a soft sigh.

“Did you talk to her about it?” May questioned but Hazel let out a frustrated sound.

“That’s just it, May. I-I can’t talk to her about it. Mr.Stark told me not to tell anyone,” Hazel ran a hand over her face to also wipe away her tears.

May’s brows shot up at this, tilting her head and leaning forward to try and get a good look at Hazel’s face.

“Can you tell me about it?” May asked with hope.

Hazel shook her head as she sucked in a deep breath. Her aunt meant the world to her as did you and she couldn’t risk what could come out of either of you finding out.

“No one.”

May sighs as she messes with her chipping clear polish on her fingernails.

“Well, that sucks. I was really hoping you’d give in and tell me that you’re Spider-Woman by now.”

Hazel’s eyes shot open at her words but attempted to remain calm. She moved her hand from her face and let out a scoff at her words like she was making a ridiculous accusation.

“Spider-Woman? Yeah, that’s hilarious, May.” Hazel shook her head.

“Is it really?” May plastered on a knowing smile.

Hazel didn’t want to believe it. How could she have figured it out? Is she that obvious about her secret — or not-so-secret now— identity?

As if May could read her thoughts, she cleared her throat: “Harry accidentally told me after dinner.”

“Who’s Harry?” Hazel’s brows furrowed. How does he know about me being Spider-Woman, she thought.

May blinked at her niece before sighing and messing with her fingernails once again.

“Sorry, Happy told me over dinner.”

Hazel blankly stared at May with a mixture of confusion and amusement. She let out a soft laugh of disbelief.

“When are you and Happy going to ‘dinner’?” Hazel slyly grinned as she used air quotes over the word ‘dinner’.

“You…” May trailed off and pointed at Hazel. “You need to focus on what we were talking about before.”

Hazel kept a mental note to press her for questions later. She hadn’t been a mini-Avenger for long so when would they even have gone out?

“So…?” May egged Hazel on to finally just admit it.

“Yes. Okay, yes, it’s about me being Spider-Woman.” Hazel turned to her aunt with a loud sigh.

May stared at her with a gaped mouth in shock.

“Oh my god, what if I was working for, like, a bad guy and turned you in just now? What if I was wired?” May shook her head at her niece.

Hazel mimicked her dropped jaw but out of offense.

“May,” she whined and covered her face.

“Okay, okay, I’m teasing you. I’m sorry,” May chuckled as wrapped one of her thin arms around Hazel’s frame, placing a kiss on her temple. “Now, sweetheart, you really have to think about this, okay? I know and I can see how much you care about her. You need to think about if it really would be so bad if she knew. She might even be at ease to know the reason you’ve been instead of angry at you because you hide things from her. I can’t speak for her, you know, but if she’s as amazing as you know she is, I don’t think telling her the truth could be as harmful as you’re making it out to be.”

Hazel shut her eyes as she listened to May’s words against her temple, sinking into her embrace. May brought up the same reasons that Hazel had gone over in her head probably hundreds of times; every time she looked at your gorgeous smile, every time you spoke to her, just being around you caused an itch in her throat to just blurt out that she was Spider-Woman.

Every single day has been mental torture. Has it been the same for you?

“What if Mr.Stark finds out and I lose everything?” Hazel whispered as she snuggled her shoulder.

“Well, then he was never worth it. You’re a smart girl, Hazel. I know that. Your mom knew that. Your dad knew that. My future daughter-in-law knows that,” Hazel softly chuckled at that, a pained expression on her face at the mention of her parents.

“I know you’ll do the right thing,” May finalizes, nodding with certainty.

Hazel nodded at her words, wiping away the tears that managed to escape from her drowsy eyes.

She hopes she’s able to do this the right way and to not hurt you more in the process.

TAG-LIST: @atyourmerci @mih11 @camilleee222 @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @alesbianperson @slaughtercarrie @cllhan @ahdbodhr @ih8chickentenders @bluerazberrystarz @sc0ttstre3ted @ilovevampires99 @sam-cooperrr @guzzlingplastic111 @rubycruzin4abruzin @cyberchomp @lucicorn72 @angelsknifeprty @lamolaine @cinnamonmilf

[innorogers]

Vigil

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

Warning: Mention of sex / Fluff & Angst / Protective Steve / Jealous Steve /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff / John Walker

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull

It ended just as expected. Steve cummed twice in the shower—once in your mouth, because, damn, he tasted amazing after cleaning up, and again inside you, because you smelled just as irresistible with that jasmine scent in your hair.

So here you are, three cups of coffee later, and about to nap on your desk. The body Hydra gave you was strong, but you’ve been in a car chase, with the Iron Army hunting you down, fought in a nightclub, and probably had four or five rounds of sex with Steve. You honestly don’t know what was more exhausting. You’d guess the mission that had gone rogue, but honestly, the sex just left you breathless.

"Oh, rough night?" Robert handed you a fourth cup of coffee, eyeing the dark circles under your eyes. "Need the adrenaline shot?"

"Um…" You actually considered it for a moment. Your body metabolized stuff like that too fast, though—it would only last for a couple of hours, tops. "Nah, forget it.” You need your brain clear to process everything that happened. 

“I’ve heard…” Dr. Lin’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he leaned casually on your desk, his eyes scanning the room where your colleagues were clearly whispering about you. “That Captain America had quite the adventure yesterday. Right after leaving the UN, too.”

He tsked and pulled out his phone, showing you a few grainy clips. Footage from CCTVs and some shaky handhelds—probably from people who had their phones out at the right moment. “A broken bridge, streets on fire, and…a fight in a nightclub? You’re gonna need more than coffee to survive this shift, I think.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Too late for damage control, huh? Is it all over the news?” You could only imagine the hell Steve was going through with Commander Hill: ‘I gave you 1,278 security protocols, and you ignored them all?!’ Yeah, you weren’t setting foot in the command room today.

“Not quite all over the news yet—mostly social media.” Dr. Lin was clearly enjoying the UN’s PR disaster a bit too much. “I think they’re working overtime behind the scenes to sweep it under the rug. Captain America gets attacked his first time outside the compound during ‘The Reconciliation of the Century’? Yeah…someone’s having a bad day in PR.”

“Anyway…as I was saying…You’re gonna need more than coffee, we’ve got company today…”

“What? Company?” You were surprised. “They’re letting people in?!” After yesterday’s security breach?

“Seems the first New Era Project agent that the UN sent was a fraud or didn’t work. And since we visited them yesterday already, today, they’re sending some new guys.” Dr. Lin looked at you, lowering his glasses: “Yikes, right? So for today, we need to pretend we’re working. ‘Cause we’re not sharing our real stuff…which will make this day unbearable.”

Oh. You grimaced after Dr. Lin turned around and began “working.” Yeah, you knew everything about how the last agent went wrong. But actually, this ‘pretend to be working’ thing was good—you needed to analyze everything that had happened.

You opened a document connected to Tony’s hub and started typing, outlining the details for him in your usual style. (It was your private little system—documents stored in The Crib, or what the three of you called the ‘Geniuses’ Sticky Notes.’) You’d barely finished bullet point five when someone in a crisp military uniform appeared beside you, smiling next to your screen.

“Hi, Doctor—whose phone number is still confidential. Nice to see you again.” John Walker said smiling, quoting the line you’d once used to refuse giving him your number.

Oh dear Lord, he really should have taken a nap with you when he had the chance, instead of those three—no, four rounds of sex you had in the dressing room and the shower.

Steve thought after suppressing another yawn, trying to focus on the screen, where Thadeus Ross was losing his temper again, explaining why the UN had nothing to do with the attack he and you got yesterday.

But who was he kidding? Steve almost smiled. Nope, no way he’d have preferred the nap over the sex. That was exactly what he needed after being hard almost the entire afternoon. And four times weren’t enough—he would have gone on if you weren’t in the dressing room.

For fuck’s sake, when is this over? He couldn’t wait to get back to your private lab-slash-home, have a light dinner, and get in bed with you.

Oh, that’s a nice thought: a sex marathon for the weekend is all he needs after this hellish week. He started thinking of your intertwined bodies, your begging moans that sounded like heaven... Yeah, okay, he needs to focus. Maybe listen to what the Secretary has to say instead of thinking about your messy hair, your heavy breath, your skin that felt like silky sweet milk, and your mouth... Yup, stop. Let’s hear Ross, so he doesn’t get hard again in the middle of a full meeting room.

He felt a glare on him, so he looked around and saw Agent Sharon Carter staring with her eyebrows raised, as if saying, “Gotcha, pay attention.” Steve suppressed a smile and looked down. Oh boy, this was going to be a long day.

“I thought your super friends were going to be attending this meeting too.” Once the screen was off, Sharon smiled at him while picking up the folders and files.

“Well... Hill and Sam are still in Fraser’s interrogation. Tony and Bruce are tracking back the security breach. Natasha and Clint took over my place in training since I’m busy with other things. So...”

Basically, what happened was that when Tony asked who would be taking this mission, everyone stepped back, and I was the only idiot at the front. Steve shook his head internally.

“In that case.” Sharon gave him the usual confident wink. “I’m glad. It’s been forever since we shared a mission.” She grinned. “Last time almost cost me my career.”

“Yeah...um...lucky, things sorted out on that one...” He was a little embarrassed but still grateful for Sharon’s help during the Civil War chaos.

“I’m kidding with you, okay?” Sharon teased. “It’s not like I almost got into federal prison or anything.” She sighed a little, lowering her voice: “Although, I wouldn’t have minded if I had to.” She said with a soft voice and a sparkle in her eyes, looking at Steve with sincerity, which made him stiffen.

“So, how have you been?” Steve nodded and asked with a polite smile, pressing the elevator button for her as they headed to the cafeteria floor. “How does it feel to be at the UN? I heard the benefits are better than the CIA, though unfortunately, you’ll need to deal with us again.”

"Ah, I don’t know what you're talking about," Sharon said with a wink, grinning playfully. "Every agent’s dream, right? Dealing with the Avengers, working alongside the great Captain America... even if, well, my boss would rather face another alien army than deal with the politics of this initiative."

“Well, that’d make two of us.” Steve chuckled, and opened the cafeteria door for her.

The hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes filled the air. The compound’s cafeteria was large, efficient, and—much to Steve’s relief—quiet at this time of day. It was near lunchtime, but still a little early for food service, so the air was full of a coffee’s aroma that lingered from breakfast. They got in line for coffee and a quick snack, and Sharon gave him a sideways glance, her expression teasing as she grabbed a sandwich.

“Oh wow, you guys have affogato as dessert? I could consider getting back to work with you guys just for your catering service.” Sharon said, breaking the brief silence as they moved along the counter.

“Well, if you consider that, I could make my best effort to get your agent’s number back.” Steve grinned, grabbing just a cup of coffee.

“Oh yes, lucky number, huh?” She stopped for a second as she laughed and said, “Remember that place we went to… Venice? What was it called, the best affogato in the world.”

“Benicio’s?” Steve nodded. “Yeah… it’s closed now. I mean, gone during the Blip, hopefully reopened now.”

“You didn’t have the affogato, though,” Sharon said with a playful hint in her voice. “Mr. ‘I don’t know how to relax since I got into a fight with Stark and we’re on the run.’”

“Hey, I was the international most wanted. I think it was okay for me just to stay out of the loop. Imagine if I got caught because of ice cream. That would’ve been…”

“Funny? Quite a story to tell? Best date I’ve ever had?” Sharon shrugged.

“...Embarrassing.” Steve said with a smile. “Or awkward, or even humiliating.”

Sharon shook her head and laughed. They found a table by the window, where sunlight poured in, and Steve took a seat across from her. He could see the curiosity in Sharon’s eyes, the slight hesitation before she spoke again.

“It really was, actually. One of my top three dates.” Her smile turned more serious, her voice low enough that only Steve could hear over the ambient noise. “Too bad it ended so… abruptly.”

Steve wanted to say, "We would never have made it too far", but he only sighed.

He didn’t want to dismiss her feelings, and he couldn’t deny that something had existed between them. It was brief, but also real. A shared history they couldn’t quite forget or ignore.

Sharon was strong, smart, and capable—someone he admired deeply and cared about. He appreciated her confidence and her courage, but that connection, though meaningful, was nothing compared to what he felt for you now.

That had been a stream. With you, it was tides, waves, the entire ocean.

“We made a good team.” Steve said with a smile, being honest and looking directly into her eyes.

Something about it made Sharon hold her breath. 

She could remember moments in the past when Steve had the same effect on her. He would just gaze at her, and her heartbeat would skip or beat too fast.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t pushed harder when it didn’t work. If she had fallen, completely and madly, as she’d wanted to, the power he held over her would have been overwhelming.

She had risked her entire career just to help him, and they were… nothing. Just a kiss, just some kisses or dates. So what would have happened if they’d continued? She couldn’t imagine a life where she had so little discipline about her feelings, mind, or heart.

“I know.” Sharon spoke softly, still holding his gaze. She was taking a leap of faith now. Cause she couldn’t help to wonder—could it have worked?

What if…they gave it another chance? They didn’t have the menace of the universe’s destruction now, the chances of Steve (or her) being a fugitive again were none after Thanos, so what… what if…?

“But…” She began, but Steve suddenly turned as something caught his attention.

It was lunchtime, and the employees began to arrive at the cafeteria, you among them, with Dr. Lin at your right and John Walker at your left.

“Captain Walker, I really don’t need a date. I have a boyfriend, no, um… fiancé.” You said as you picked up a tray and started serving lunch on your plate, remembering how Steve just highlighted this morning that the ring was indeed, a ring.

“It’s John.” Said a very cheerful John Walker, who was not stepping back from asking you out, even though you had been determined and clear about your “NO”s and reasons.

“Well, does this fiancé have a name? And where’s the ring?” he said while picking lunch and placing food, walking backward with a gracious wink.

“OH MY GOD!” You and Dr. Lin said at the same time, your eyes widening as you noticed the ring was missing from your finger.

“Where’s the ring? D…did you lose the ring?!” Robert was panicking. Did you just lose the engagement ring Captain America gave you?!

“I don’t know, it was on my finger...” You were looking in your lab coat pockets and in your clothes.

“It’s a tracking device, equipped with the last of Stark technology, how...how can you lose a tracking device?!” Dr. Lin couldn’t believe it. 

“Your boyfriend put a tracking device on you?” John hmph'd with a laugh. “What a douchebag!” He put a hand on his chest. “I promise, I would never do such a manipulative, controlling freak thing to you.” He winked. “I’ll look out for other guys who come close, of course, but that’s another level of jerkiness. Ugh...a tracking device, what is he, a psychopath?”

“It’s an engagement ring,” you replied, frowning, though you didn’t think of giving out too much information to him. You thought back to the last time you saw the ring, which was before you took it off when you entered the UN HQ.

You pulled out your phone, wanting to send a message to Steve just to confirm.

Some strands of hair curved in front of you when you looked down, and John, who was standing in front of you, couldn’t help but stretch out his hand and brush them to your shoulder. His fingers ran through your hair, and his fingertips touched your ear as he accommodated it for you.

Before you could react, a loud crash echoed through the cafeteria, like the sound of a broken cup or mug.

Sharon stood in shock as Steve slammed his cup down so hard the porcelain shattered. His face was livid, veins bulging in his neck, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

He abruptly stood, the chair scraping loudly behind him, and stormed in your direction.

"I've got it, babe." Steve said. He didn’t miss a moment of the interaction and was at your side in an instant. He took your hand, his eyes locked on John Walker, and carefully slid the ring back onto your finger. “It was in the pocket of your gear.” 

Both captains exchanged tense, serious looks. You could feel the sparks fly between them as they made eye contact, and after a long moment, Steve finally smiled.

“I’m guessing you're here as a representative of the New Era’s Project, Captain Walker?” He said, placing a firm hand on your waist, his grip tightening slightly.

“Yes.” John replied with a polite but sneering smile.

“The knowledge exchanges from R&D have been…quite enlightening. I can’t wait to see what the best of your team has to offer…to me.” He said as he raised his jaw and tilted his head toward you. You could feel Steve’s body tense, like a bow stretched to its full capacity and ready to snap back.

"Take whatever gear or armory you want, Walker," Steve said in a cold, measured voice, as the entire cafeteria fell silent, all eyes locked on the tension between the two men.

"But the best of this compound is far beyond your reach. And don’t think for a second that you could ever put a finger on that." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, teeth clenched. Touch my girl’s hair again, and I’ll cut your arm off.

"Steve." A calm voice cut through the tension as Commander Hill appeared at the doorway. She walked in with steady confidence. "We’ve got news. I need you and Dr. Lancaster in the Command Room."

Steve didn’t immediately move. His gaze lingered on Walker for a few more seconds, with unspoken warnings in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turned to you, gently taking your hand in his, and led you out of the cafeteria. The weight of Walker’s stare followed behind you both, but your focus stayed fixed on your fiance's figure.

No one spoke in the hallway as you walked toward the Command Room. You could see Steve’s rigid expression. He was pissed, his jaw tight, shoulders tense as if holding back more words.

But you were… well, trying your best to hide the curve of your lips. Just like he had back in the car when you sobbed that you’d go to Wakanda and talk to plants for the rest of your life if he ever left you to go back to his gorgeous ex.

Oh, so he was this jealous? Even a little possessive? He got this mad just because a guy touched your hair? Now, if Steve were any other guy, maybe this would seem like a giant red flag, but this was the love of your life, so…

You slid your hand into his palm, pressing your skin to his, and intertwined your fingers with his. 

Steve’s expression softened, and he looked at you, letting out a quiet sigh. He smiled when you mouthed, I love you.

Commander Hill, however, wasn’t in the mood for your lovebird moments. Her face remained stern as she waited for the door to close behind you, sealing the room.

"Agent Frazer was found dead this morning."

The words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. Steve’s hand tightened around yours as his expression shifted from softened warmth to immediate alertness.

You lowered your sight.

Somehow, you had a feeling this was coming anytime soon. It was weird, though. Agent Frazer was not your brother; he just pretended to be for some time (and then actually tried to brainwash slash attack you). But for a moment, you wished that had been true, that your brother was alive, even if he had been turned against you. So now he is dead, and you feel strangely sad.

Your way of dealing with it? Throw yourself into the facts.

“How?” you asked, almost mechanically. “Was it because… his neural synapses overloaded, triggering an energy surge that short-circuited his cerebral cortex in under a millisecond? Like… like someone or something… wired his brain to self-destruct?”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she gave a quick, silent nod.

Steve’s grip tightened, haunted by your words. At that moment, he panicked, cold sweat through his shirt, fear dominating his senses when the possibility of losing you suddenly struck hard in his mind. So, could anyone do that? Snap their fingers and cause you a brain dead? 

His body was merely processing under this thought. He felt the urge to hug you, to feel your warmth and heartbeat under his skin, to feel you entirely safe in his arms. But you were in the command room, so he didn’t move.

“Can we make sure that…” His voice trembled slightly. “What happened to Frazer…” doesn’t happen to you?

Commander Hill noted his panic, so she gave him some time to process.

“Oh no.” You noticed too, so you reassured him, squeezing his hand back: “That won’t happen to me. I’ve only been through one brainwash. It takes more than that—multiple processes, open surgery. And Hydra… they didn’t have the tech to pull it off. Not back then.”

“But…” Your mind raced ahead, piecing things together. “Whoever did this? They’re desperate.”

You rubbed your forehead, and as your hands dropped, Maria noticed it: that look on your face.

The same intense, calculating look Steve wore when he was seeing things no one else could—analyzing every possibility, tracing out the most brilliant, cunning plan, whether on a battlefield or at a table of white collars and power brokers.

“Jarvis, any chance Bruce and Tony are in the crib?” You needed to process your ideas, but you also needed someone who could remember everything you’d said.

“They are on their way here, Dr. Lancaster.” answered the A.I. “Crossing the elevator’s door at this moment.” said Jarvis as both entered the room.

“Please tell me you already have a preliminary conclusion?” said Tony, stepping into the room.

“Okay…” You stood in the middle, your mind moving faster than words as you started laying out the analysis.

“They have access to Hydra files—there’s no other way to explain it. Clearance levels that aren’t just high for regulars; files that were locked, or used to be locked, behind old S.H.I.E.L.D. encryption. And the remains of my file? Only a few could access those after Hydra was dismantled.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, tracking your every movement. Bruce sat at the edge of a table, hands loosely folded, but his furrowed brow betrayed his concern.

“So, leftover Hydra goons or former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Tony asked. He didn't want to say it aloud, but there was also another possibility: a breach, here, inside the Avengers.

“Or both.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives who went dark when Hydra fell. People who know how to stay hidden but had deep ties to the old Hydra infrastructure.”

“Even if they had the files, they’d need money. A lot of it, if they’re working with the kind of tech that got into Frazer’s head.” Bruce said, swiping through the files on the screen.

“Yeah, this doesn’t sound like some underground merc group.” Maria said, standing beside him as she watched the files on the main screen.

“This is serious, billionaire-level investment. Whoever’s backing them has access to bleeding-edge tech. Retinal implants, memory manipulation… that’s not standard black-market operation. The kind of power they’re throwing around is something only the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to—the old S.H.I.E.L.D. when they were still around.”

“So, they’re gearing up for something big, or they’re hitting a wall. What are they trying to accomplish? Why use Frazer as a puppet?” Tony followed the line of thought.

You hesitated: “I think… They’re close to something. A breakthrough, maybe. Or…” You stopped and narrowed your eyes, thinking aloud. “Or they’re failing. Desperate. They’re making bold moves because they need something critical. And that something is… me.”

Steve’s expression shifted. His fingers locked onto yours, tightly.

“The attack was directed at you. Frazer was pretending to be your brother. And to confirm your existence.” Tony sighed, frustrated and feeling a pang of guilt. He hid you all these years, thinking you would be safe. He should have let you out of the New Eras Project. The Avengers had so many ways of detecting enemies without using your powers. Fuck, he should have listened to Steve when he warned him to let you out of the Project.

“Of the twelve of you, you’re the only one with… those powers.” Steve murmured, almost clenching his teeth. He felt the urge to hug you, as if you were going to disappear or vanish in the next second.

“And a success case.” You said, not wanting to scare him but knowing you all needed the entire picture. “The only survivor, the only… prototype. Still alive. In my body is the source code for why these experiments or creations worked.”

“Wait…” Tony’s glare was fixed on you. “If the endgame is to copy your ability… What could they even use that for?” But it was a self-answering conversation. He was just thinking aloud: “…a soldier who could walk into a building and identify every weak point before the first shot is fired. Or worse, detect something we’ve built to be undetectable.”

“Why stop there, Tony?” Maria’s expression was serious and cold. “Why would there be only one? Hydra made a dozen back then, and they didn’t even have half the tech we have now.”

Bruce frowned deeper, his voice low: “If they’re that close, then we’re on borrowed time. They’ve already brainwashed Frazer, and now they’re playing with neural implants and synaptic overrides.”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “And they are so desperate, they don’t care if we know they’re out there now, because they’re so close they can taste it. Once they succeed, they won’t even fear the Avengers’ powers anymore.”

Tony exhaled sharply, his glare cold. “So, they’re building something. A super soldier, or an army of them—enhanced with tech that would let them see through just about anything.”

“And they’re not far from getting there. But for now, I’m still the key to unlocking that power.”

The room went quiet for a moment as the weight of your words settled in.

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic.” Tony applauded, the whole thing giving him a headache. “We’ve got super soldiers with x-ray vision on the horizon. And they’ve got you in their crosshairs.”

“So basically, we need to see what triggered this sudden desperation.” Bruce leaned forward, and his mind began to analyze: “We could scan for energy centralization around the globe. Human creation needs vast electromagnetic fields to power high-level bioengineering, especially when manipulating neural pathways at this scale. We need to track when or where all this is happening. But…”

His voice was tense.

“I’ve got a feeling they’re at the door already. Because whatever they’re building… they’re almost done.”

The way back home was silent. You could feel the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. Steve hadn’t said much since you left the command room. His usual warmth and quiet strength seemed overshadowed by something deeper—fear and anxiety, clunging over him like a dark shadow, haunting him at his heels.

You wanted to speak, but your mind was processing too. You were trying to remember everything you knew about yourself and your siblings, every memory, every piece of paper you’d seen in Hydra labs, every layer of analysis they’d made you go through.

The ride home was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road, even your house slash lab was after all the securities protocols and protective layers Maria had put, he was still alert, as if there were something in the grass and trees of the compound that would attack anytime. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

"Babe there's no need…" You said as Steve moved around the house once you've arrived.

He checked every window, every door, securing them with an almost obsessive care. He paused at the front door, his hand lingering on the lock as if it was the only thing standing between you and the threat he couldn’t control.

You watched him, knowing that this wasn’t just about protecting you—it was about the fear within him.

"Steve, I'm here." You stopped him. Placing your hand on his back: "I'm here. With you."

He turned to you, his face pale. His eyes were haunted, wide with the kind of fear you rarely saw in him. He’s worried.

No, not worried, he’s terrified.

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you like you might disappear if he let go. His grip is firm, desperate, as trying to shield you from an invisible danger that only he can see.

His breath is uneven, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

You don’t say anything at first. Words won’t soothe him. So you just hold him back, resting your head against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently press them on his neck, cupping his face to make him look at you.

"I'm here. And we will be ok." You say softly.

These words made him tremble. Will you? How can you be sure? How could he know? What if…

He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost you.

“I won’t let them take you.” He said, as a sacred oath, tatooed in his soul. “I’m going to set up more protocols.” He muttered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression one of steely resolve beneath the worry. “More security. I’ll have Tony upgrade the system. I’ll have guards outside. I’ll—”

You stayed still in his arms, feeling the rawness of his fear. His body was tense, and you could feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of his panic pressing against you. He wasn’t just holding you for comfort—he was holding you like you were the last solid thing in a world that was quickly unraveling.

“Steve,” you interrupted softly, placing a hand on his chest. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

His eyes locked onto yours. “I can try. And I will.”

"Babe…this is the Avengers compound. This is…the safest place on earth. Or even the universe."

"It took only one protocol. One permission. Approved by me." He said with teeth clenched. "I gave him clearance. One, to bring Frazer in front of you, I won't ever, ever let that happen again." He said with conviction, his expressions somber as he remembered everything you went through.

But beneath his determination, you could see the cracks: the anxiety gnawing away at him, the overwhelming fear that no matter what he did, it might not be enough.

"Steve…"

“You don’t understand…” His voice is strained, thick with the fear that he hasn’t been able to shake since the moment he realized you were being targeted. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve lost too many. If something happens to you—”

He pauses.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. He was a man made of iron will and conviction, but here he stood, vulnerable and raw, stripped bare of all his usual defenses.

“Hey, hey, hey…Listen.” You said, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. I'm here, with you, I'm safe.”

He looks at you and feels a pang of pain to your innocent even naive words.

Safe? Were you safe when he was on the other side of the wall and couldn't do anything but watch as you almost fell under Frazer's brainwash? Were you safe when you pressed a tranquilizer to yourself?

The memory of you in his arms, unconcious and slipping away was so vivid.

His hands tightened around you again at that thought, his grip shaking slightly. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted, his voice strained. “What if I can’t get to you in time? What if something happens and I’m not there? What if…”

“I can’t take that risk.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. “ I can't. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. His blue eyes are filled with a vulnerability you’ve only seen in rare moments— when the weight of the world is too much, even for him.

“Steve.” You say soft but firmly: “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find reassurance in the depths of your gaze. Slowly, he exhales, but he doesn’t let go. That deep-rooted terror of losing you, isn't going away anytime soon.

His arms remain wrapped around you, protective and unyielding, as though he’s made a silent vow that nothing—no person, no secret organization, no force on Earth or beyond—will ever take you away from him.

If only that could be true.

THE End but TBC

Continue to Chapter 10: Eclipse

Alright I'm SO SORRY I'm late!! 2 Full time jobs really is consuming me!! I hope you enjoyed it!! Sooooo I have a really serious question RN, could you doooo me the favor to lmk your thoughts!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! 🤍

For my second request, I'd love to request a college student! Tony Stark or a young! Tony Stark (after college) story for your Marvel Holiday Special, whichever one you prefer to write for.

I'm thinking of the prompt [ 8. First Christmas Together  – Share a special first holiday celebration with your character, complete with shared traditions and sweet moments. ] for him and Fem! Reader, with lots of cute moments such as buying/decorating a tree together, going to a Christmas market, exchanging sweet, thoughtful gifts, making peppermint hot chocolate, etc. (I understand if you can't fit all of this in; please feel free to pick and choose which ideas you'd like to write about the most.)

Thank you so much, and I'm looking forward to seeing all the stories you'll gift us this holiday season! 🤍

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's the first Christmas for you and Tony in your shared apartment and you are really excited: will it be a complete disaster or the best Christmas ever?

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff

ᯓ★ me when soft men and Christmas

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The biting December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the door swinging closed with a quiet thud behind you. Snowflakes drift lazily from a slate-gray sky, dotting the ground with a fresh layer of white, and the smell of pine and roasted chestnuts lingers faintly in the air. The shopping plaza is bustling with life, from bundled-up couples carrying oversized bags to kids chasing each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. Beside you, Tony Stark, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveys the scene like he’s about to conquer it.

“You realize,” he starts, cocking an eyebrow at the giant inflatable Santa looming above the store entrance, “this is all part of a grand capitalist scheme, right? They’re counting on saps like us to drop a small fortune on plastic snowflakes and gaudy lights.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as you step closer. “You say that now, but I saw how excited you got when I mentioned a tree. Don’t try to pretend you’re above it.”

“I’m excited because I’m picturing us building some kind of robot that lights the tree for us. Or—ooh, one that launches ornaments like tiny projectiles. Think about it: automated Christmas chaos.”

“Or we could just have a normal Christmas like normal people,” you suggest, looping your arm through his and steering him toward the store entrance. The warmth of his body seeps through the layers of your coat, and you feel a spark of giddiness bubbling in your chest. This isn’t just any Christmas; it’s your Christmas together, in your new apartment. The thought alone is enough to make your heart skip.

Tony hums noncommittally, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the automatic doors slide open. “Normal’s overrated. But fine, I’ll humor you. Lead on, holiday spirit incarnate.”

The store is a sensory overload of glitter and color, every aisle packed to the brim with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A soft instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” plays over the speakers, adding to the festive chaos. Tony lets out a low whistle as he takes it all in.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. This is…a lot,” he says, plucking a sparkly green bow from a nearby shelf and holding it up. “Tell me you don’t want me to wear this.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you reply, snatching it out of his hand, “but now that you mention it…”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your stomach flip. “You know, I’d do it for you. I’d make it look good, too.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you steer the cart down the first aisle. It’s stocked with strings of lights in every color imaginable, and you pause to inspect a box of classic white ones. Tony, naturally, zeroes in on something completely different.

“Multicolor. Obviously,” he says, holding up a box of lights that blink in erratic patterns. “This screams fun. And by fun, I mean mildly seizure-inducing, but hey, memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But I was thinking classic. White lights are elegant.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going for classy,” Tony says, resting an arm casually on the cart’s handle. “But come on, we’re young, living in sin, and this is our first Christmas in our place. It should be fun, not…a Martha Stewart catalog.”

You laugh despite yourself, considering his point. “Okay, fine. But we’re compromising. White lights for the tree, multicolor for…something else.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees, tossing the box of multicolored lights into the cart with an air of triumph. “This is how we build a healthy relationship. Compromising over Christmas decorations. Dr. Phil would be so proud.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, willingly cohabitating with me. Who’s the real winner here?”

You shake your head, but the warmth in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to be annoyed. Instead, you grab his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Come on, Stark. Let’s find a tree.”

The tree section is overwhelming, with rows upon rows of artificial evergreens of varying heights and degrees of realism. Tony takes it upon himself to test the sturdiness of each one by shaking them, earning a few disapproving looks from nearby shoppers.

“This one looks like it could survive an earthquake,” he says, gesturing to a six-foot tree with perfectly symmetrical branches. “What do you think?”

You inspect it critically, running your hand over the faux pine needles. “It’s nice, but…is it too perfect? I kind of like the ones that look a little…messy. More natural.”

Tony steps back, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. “You want messy? Oh, I can find messy. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come pre-infested with fake squirrels or something.”

“Fake squirrels?” you echo, laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“What can I say? My imagination is a gift.” He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning to scour the rows for the “perfectly imperfect” tree. The simple gesture sends a warm glow through you, and you find yourself marveling, not for the first time, at how easily he makes you feel cherished.

After some debate—and a bit of mild bickering—you settle on a slightly uneven but charmingly full tree that Tony immediately dubs “Frank.” The name sticks, and by the time you’re wheeling the cart toward the ornament aisle, you’re both brainstorming ways to make Frank the star of the apartment.

“Obviously, Frank needs a killer topper,” Tony says, scanning the shelves. “Something that says, ‘I’m the king of this Christmas.’ What about this?” He holds up a comically oversized star, glitter raining down from it as he tilts it from side to side.

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s a little…much.”

“That’s the point,” he insists, but you shake your head, and he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You pick. But if you pick something boring, I reserve the right to judge you.”

You smirk, holding up a simple yet elegant angel with golden wings. “How’s this?”

Tony eyes it for a moment before nodding. “It’s got class. I approve.”

“Good,” you reply, adding it to the cart. “Now let’s talk ornaments.”

Tony immediately gravitates toward the more unconventional options—a hamburger, a miniature disco ball, a tiny rocket ship. You can’t help but laugh as he piles them into the cart with zero hesitation.

“We’re going for eclectic, right?” he says, grinning at your expression.

“Eclectic is one way to put it,” you reply, picking up a box of glass baubles in varying shades of red and gold. “But I think we need a little balance.”

“Sure, sure. Balance.” He waves a hand dismissively before adding a dinosaur ornament to the pile. “Like this guy. He’s green, he’s festive, and he’s clearly balancing the holiday spirit with prehistoric flair.”

You groan, but it’s impossible to be annoyed with him. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks. By the time you make it to the checkout line, your cart is an eclectic mix of classic and quirky, much like the two of you.

As the cashier rings up your items, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and amused. “You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a store.”

“Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Even more fun than that time we got kicked out of IKEA?”

“That wasn’t fun; that was an adventure,” he replies, grinning. “This is different. This is…nice.”

His words, simple as they are, make your chest ache in the best way. You reach out, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It is.”

By the time you get everything loaded into the car and head back to the apartment, the snow has started falling harder, the flakes sticking to the windshield as the wipers sweep them away. Tony hums along to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio, and you can’t help but smile at how relaxed he looks, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his knee.

When you finally arrive home, the two of you haul your bags and the boxed-up tree upstairs, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. The apartment is warm and cozy, the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you lit earlier filling the air. Tony stretches out, his head resting in your lap as he looks up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Ready to turn this place into a winter wonderland?” he asks, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the two of you set to work, turning your shared space into something magical. Every ornament, every string of lights, every silly joke shared along the way feels like a promise—of love, of laughter, of a future together that’s as bright and colorful as the tree now standing proudly in the corner.

Tony sprawls out on the floor, an open box of ornaments beside him, his legs kicking lazily as he examines a particularly garish one: a glitter-covered pineapple. He holds it up to the light, squinting as if he’s inspecting a fine piece of art. “This one,” he declares, pointing at the pineapple and then at you with the seriousness of a presidential speech, “needs prime real estate. Front and center. It’s the kind of ornament that demands attention.”

You glance over from where you’re untangling a string of lights, your hands already glittery from the process. “It’s hideous. If it’s going on the tree, it’s going in the back where no one can see it.”

“Hideous?” Tony gasps, clutching the pineapple like it’s a wounded comrade. “This is a conversation starter. It says, ‘This tree belongs to people with taste and a sense of humor.’”

“It says, ‘This tree belongs to people who lost a bet,’” you counter, tossing a rogue light bulb into the trash pile.

He drops the ornament into the box with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch. “You have no appreciation for the avant-garde. Next, you’re going to tell me my disco-ball ornament doesn’t make the cut either.”

“Oh, that’s going on the tree,” you say with a smirk, plugging in the lights and watching them flicker to life. “I have to draw the line somewhere, but even I’m not heartless enough to deprive you of a tiny disco inferno.”

Tony grins, clearly victorious. “That’s the spirit. All right, let’s light this bad boy up.”

The two of you tackle the tree together, winding the lights around it in haphazard loops. Tony insists on controlling the rotation of the tree while you maneuver the lights, which leads to a fair amount of bickering, punctuated by his constant reminders to “watch the top—Frank’s got dignity, you know.”

“You named it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping over a stray ornament. “You’re not allowed to treat it like it’s a fragile piece of Renaissance art.”

“I named it because I care,” he replies loftily, holding the tree steady as you stretch up on your tiptoes to loop the lights higher. “And because I think Frank deserves respect for the sacrifices he’s making to be part of our inaugural Christmas.”

“He’s a fake tree, Tony.”

“Fake doesn’t mean he’s emotionless,” Tony quips, grinning at you. “I mean, look at me. A solid 50% of my charm is artificial, and I’m still delightful.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finally secure the last strand of lights. “Okay, fine, Frank. If you’re sentient, blink twice.”

Tony leans in close to the tree, squinting at the lights with mock intensity. “Was that a blink? Did you see it?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you pick up a box of ornaments. “Now let’s get to the fun part.”

Tony takes an unceremonious dive into the box, emerging with the hamburger ornament in one hand and a golden bauble in the other. “Burgers or boring?” he asks, holding them up like they’re dueling gladiators.

“Both,” you say, plucking the bauble from his hand and placing it carefully on the tree. “It’s called balance, remember?”

He makes a face but hangs the burger ornament on a branch anyway. “Fine, but I’m putting it next to the dinosaur for thematic consistency. Carnivores stick together.”

“Carnivores?” you repeat, laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“Hey, someone has to,” Tony says, standing back to survey his work. “Look at that. A prehistoric picnic. The tree’s already a masterpiece, and we’ve barely started.”

The decorating continues in a flurry of glitter, laughter, and occasional sabotage. Every time you carefully place a glass ornament, Tony finds a way to “accidentally” bump into the tree, sending it wobbling precariously.

“Oops,” he says innocently, steadying the trunk. “Guess Frank’s not as sturdy as we thought.”

“Keep doing that, and Frank’s going to end up on the curb,” you warn, pointing a candy-cane-shaped ornament at him like it’s a weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tony replies, his grin widening. “Not with all the blood, sweat, and glitter we’ve poured into this.”

“You’re testing me, Stark.”

“Oh, I live to test you,” he says with a wink, before dramatically hanging the pineapple ornament directly in the center of the tree. “There. Perfection.”

You groan, but you’re laughing too hard to argue. Instead, you reach for the tree topper—the angel you picked earlier—and hold it up for inspection. “Ready to crown Frank?”

Tony salutes you, stepping back to give you room. “Do it. Make him majestic.”

You climb onto the arm of the couch for a little extra height, balancing carefully as you place the angel on top of the tree. Tony’s hands hover near your waist, ready to catch you if you wobble.

“There,” you say, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “What do you think?”

Tony tilts his head, his arms crossed as he surveys the tree. “I think Frank’s looking sharp. A little eclectic, a little classy. Just like us.”

You smile, nudging his side. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “So, what’s next? Stockings? Mistletoe? A twenty-foot inflatable snowman for the balcony?”

“Stockings, yes. Mistletoe, maybe. The snowman? Absolutely not.”

“Buzzkill,” Tony mutters, but he’s grinning as he grabs a pair of stockings from one of the shopping bags. “Do we hang these by the nonexistent chimney with care? Or do we just toss them wherever and hope Santa’s GPS works?”

You snatch the stockings from him, rolling your eyes. “We hang them on the wall, genius. Like civilized people.”

As you arrange the stockings Tony rummages through another bag, producing a tangled mess of garland. He holds it up triumphantly. “What do you think? Wall art or trip hazard?”

“Knowing you? Both.”

He laughs, draping the garland over his shoulders like a boa. “You’re no fun. But fine, I’ll keep it classy. Where do you want it?”

After some debate—and an accidental garland lassoing incident—you manage to string it up along the window, adding a cozy, festive touch to the room. By the time you’re finished, the apartment feels transformed. The tree twinkles in the corner, the stockings hang proudly on the wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle still lingers in the air.

Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “All right, decorating queen. Come admire our masterpiece.”

You join him, tucking your feet under you as you lean against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the lights on the tree blink and twinkle.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual, “this actually turned out pretty great.”

“You sound surprised,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m not surprised,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I don’t know. It’s nice. Having this. With you.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and you tilt your head to look up at him. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his brown eyes warm and earnest.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your hand finding his. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand, his usual smirk returning as he glances at the tree. “Although I still say the pineapple should’ve been the topper.”

You groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Guess that makes me irresistible.”

“Or maybe I’m just a saint,” you reply, grinning up at him.

“Either way,” he says, settling back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, “this is shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.”

And as you sit there, the soft glow of the tree lighting up the room, you can’t help but agree.

The snow falls gently, blanketing the cobblestone streets of the Christmas market in a powdery white. Strings of twinkling lights are draped between booths, casting a warm glow over the bustling scene. The air is rich with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and sweet pastries, and the faint hum of Christmas carols played by a live quartet in the distance adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

You clutch Tony’s arm as the two of you wander through the market, your boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted ground. He’s wearing his favorite dark coat, the one that hugs his shoulders just right, and a red scarf that you gave him last Christmas. The scarf is slightly askew, and it makes him look effortlessly charming in that disheveled way only he can pull off.

“You know,” he says, his breath puffing out in little clouds, “this place is like a booby trap for wallets. Everywhere you turn, something’s glittering and saying, ‘Buy me! Buy me!’ It’s diabolical.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on his arm. “It’s a Christmas market, Tony. That’s kind of the point.”

He grins, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, well, just remember, you’re in charge of stopping me from buying a chocolate fountain or a solid gold Santa.”

“Solid gold Santa? That’s oddly specific.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a booth for it somewhere. Maybe next to the artisanal hot chocolate stand.”

As if on cue, you pass a booth selling gourmet hot chocolate, complete with toppings ranging from whipped cream to crushed candy canes. Tony slows, glancing at the display with obvious interest.

“Should we?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Tony, we’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already caving,” you tease, pulling him away gently. “Let’s at least make it past the first aisle before we start buying things.”

“Fine, but I’m circling back for it,” he says, shooting the booth a longing look as you guide him onward.

The market is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Every booth offers something unique: hand-carved wooden toys, blown glass ornaments, cozy knit scarves, and even quirky items like soap shaped like reindeer. Tony, naturally, gravitates toward the most absurd finds.

“Look at this!” he exclaims, holding up a ceramic frog wearing a Santa hat. “Tell me this isn’t peak holiday spirit.”

“It’s…something,” you admit, trying not to laugh. “But do we really need a festive frog in our lives?”

“We don’t need it, but we deserve it,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really going to deny Frank the Frog a warm, loving home?”

You snatch the frog from his hands, placing it back on the display. “Frank the Frog will have to find a family that appreciates him more than we do.”

“Cold,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as you move on. “Heartless. And here I thought you were the soft one in this relationship.”

You glance back at him, smirking. “You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you,” he replies, falling into step beside you again. “I also know you’re going to want to buy something completely impractical any minute now. And when you do, I’ll be ready to gloat.”

“Fat chance,” you say, but you can already feel your resolve slipping as you pass a booth selling intricately detailed snow globes. One of them catches your eye—a small, delicate scene of a snow-covered village illuminated from within. You reach out to pick it up, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside.

Tony sidles up next to you, a smug grin on his face. “And here it is. The impractical thing.”

“It’s not impractical,” you protest, cradling the snow globe carefully. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s also one more thing for me to dust,” he teases, but there’s no bite to his words. He leans closer, examining the globe with genuine interest. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s pretty cool. But do we really need it?”

You hesitate, your fingers curling around the base of the globe. “Probably not,” you say reluctantly, setting it back down. “But if I’m not allowed to buy the snow globe, you’re definitely not allowed to buy Frank the Frog.”

“Deal,” he says with a laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next aisle. “We’ll save our money for something really ridiculous.”

The snow continues to fall, soft and steady, as you explore more of the market. Tony insists on sampling every food item in sight—gingerbread, roasted chestnuts, candied almonds—and you can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up with each new bite.

“This,” he says, holding up a stick of caramel-dipped apple slices, “is how you do a Christmas market. Pure sugar, zero regrets.”

“You’re going to crash so hard later,” you warn, nibbling on one of the apple slices he offers you.

“Worth it,” he replies, his tone entirely unapologetic. “Besides, I’m burning calories walking in circles and fending off your bad taste in snow globes.”

“Watch it,” you say, swatting his arm lightly. “Or I’ll let you buy something ridiculous just to prove a point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replies, grinning. “You’re too responsible for that.”

“Don’t test me,” you warn, though you’re smiling too.

Eventually, the two of you come across a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one painted with intricate designs. Tony picks up one shaped like a tiny sled, examining it with a critical eye.

“Okay, this one’s actually pretty cool,” he says, holding it out to you. “And it’s functional. In an emergency, we could probably use it to deliver tiny presents.”

You laugh, taking the ornament from him. “I don’t think it’s meant for that, but it’s cute. Should we get it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “Frank the Tree deserves at least one classy ornament.”

“Classy? From the guy who wanted to buy a glittery pineapple?”

“Hey, I contain multitudes,” he says with a shrug, handing over cash to the vendor.

With the ornament carefully tucked away in a bag, you and Tony continue your stroll through the market, the lights twinkling above you like stars. He keeps a running commentary on everything you pass—mocking the price of hand-knitted mittens, marveling at the craftsmanship of a miniature nativity scene, and cracking jokes about a booth selling gourmet dog treats.

“Do you think they’d let us try one?” he asks, holding up a bone-shaped biscuit labeled ‘peanut butter delight.’

“Tony, no,” you say, laughing as you drag him away.

By the time you reach the end of the market, your hands are full of small treasures—a bag of candied almonds, the sled ornament, and a knit scarf that Tony insisted would “complete your winter aesthetic.” The snow has begun to stick to your hair and his, and the cold is starting to nip at your cheeks.

“This was a good call,” Tony says, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as you head back toward the entrance. “Although I’m still not sure how we managed to resist buying the frog.”

“Self-control,” you reply, leaning into him. “A concept you’re not usually familiar with.”

“Hey, I’ve got self-control,” he says, feigning offense. “I just choose to apply it sparingly.”

You laugh, your breath puffing out in the cold air. “Well, I’m proud of us. We didn’t blow our entire budget on useless stuff.”

“Not entirely useless,” he corrects. “The sled ornament is both decorative and practical, remember?”

“Right,” you say, grinning up at him. “It’s a critical investment.”

He smirks, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. “Exactly. And anyway, the best part of the market wasn’t the stuff we bought. It was spending the evening with you.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you pause for a moment, looking up at him as the snow falls softly around you. The twinkling lights of the market reflect in his eyes, and the grin on his face softens into something more sincere.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, though your voice is full of affection.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you gently, the cold of his lips quickly warming against yours.

The two of you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the magic of the market, the snow falling around you like a scene from a movie. It’s one of those moments you’ll tuck away and remember years from now—simple, sweet, and perfect in its own way.

As you pull apart, Tony grins, slipping his hand into yours. “Come on, let’s go find that hot chocolate stand. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” you agree, your fingers lacing through his as you head back toward the market, ready to end the evening on a sweet note.

The smell of something burning wafts through the apartment as you step out of the bedroom, pulling on your favorite fuzzy socks. It's a warm, cozy kind of Christmas Eve, with snow falling softly outside and the apartment glowing with fairy lights. Except for one thing—the scent hanging in the air doesn’t scream “cozy Christmas.” It screams, “Tony Stark’s been unsupervised in the kitchen.”

“Tony?” you call, heading toward the source of the smell. “What’s going on in there?”

“No need to panic!” his voice answers, though it’s far from reassuring. “Everything’s under control.”

You round the corner into the kitchen to find him standing at the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. There’s a pot on the burner, filled with what can only be described as a charred, lumpy mess, and a thin haze of smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling.

“Under control?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your definition of control?”

Tony glances at the pot and then back at you, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. “It’s a minor setback. I was…experimenting.”

“With what? Kitchen sabotage?”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter as though the mess behind him doesn’t exist. “For your information, I was attempting to make homemade peppermint hot chocolate. Thought I’d surprise you. But apparently, chocolate has a vendetta against me.”

Your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile. “Let me guess. You burned it?”

“Burned is a strong word,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’d say it’s more… caramelized.”

You peer into the pot, wrinkling your nose. “Tony, this isn’t caramelized. It’s cremated.”

“Details,” he replies breezily, but you can see the frustration behind his teasing tone.

You sigh, stepping closer and nudging him aside gently. “Okay, chef, move over. Let’s salvage this disaster.”

Tony steps back, his arms raised in surrender, watching as you turn off the burner and grab a fresh pot. “You’re really just going to take over? No faith in my culinary prowess?”

“I have faith in many of your skills,” you reply, dumping the ruined chocolate into the trash. “Cooking? Not one of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But in my defense, it’s chocolate. You melt it, you stir it, you drink it. How hard can it be?”

You grab a bar of good-quality chocolate from the pantry and start breaking it into pieces, throwing him a look. “Clearly harder than you thought.”

Tony chuckles, watching you work. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My moment of weakness.”

“A little,” you admit, your lips curving into a smile as you measure out milk and pour it into the pot. “But mostly I’m wondering how you managed to mess it up so badly. Did you even melt the chocolate?”

“Define ‘melt,’” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shaking your head as you stir the milk over low heat. “Okay, new rule: You’re not allowed near the stove unless I’m supervising.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests, hopping down from the counter and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his breath tickles your ear. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Your heart softens, and you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze. “It does,” you say, your voice gentle. “But maybe next time, start with something less…flammable?”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “All right, teach me, master chef. How do we make the perfect peppermint hot chocolate?”

You laugh, handing him the whisk. “First, you don’t burn the chocolate. Now, stir the milk gently while I add the chocolate pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, adopting a mock-serious tone as he starts whisking. His movements are a little overdramatic, and the milk splashes slightly, but it’s endearing.

“Gentle, Tony,” you say, biting back a smile as you add the chocolate. “This isn’t an arm workout.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he quips, his grin unapologetic. “I’ve only got one speed: full throttle.”

The chocolate begins to melt, turning the milk a rich, velvety brown. Tony leans in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration. “Okay, this part’s kind of fun. It’s like alchemy.”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “The alchemy of not burning things.”

As the hot chocolate comes together, you grab a bottle of peppermint extract and hold it up. “Now for the magic ingredient. Just a couple of drops.”

Tony watches as you add the peppermint, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. “Smells amazing,” he says, his tone genuine. “Almost makes up for the fact that I nearly burned down the apartment.”

“Almost,” you agree, giving the mixture one last stir before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

As you pour the hot chocolate, Tony wanders over to the counter, his movements casual—but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can question it, he points upward.

You follow his gaze and spot a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “When did you—?”

“Earlier,” he says, his grin widening. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You shake your head, setting the mugs down and stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice softening as he leans in.

You meet him halfway, his lips warm against yours despite the cold air outside. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, and when you pull back, his eyes are brighter than the Christmas lights strung around the room.

“Mistletoe is definitely your best idea today,” you say, your voice teasing but full of affection.

“Better than cremated chocolate?” he asks, feigning surprise.

“Much better,” you reply, laughing as you hand him his mug. “Now, let’s see if this is worth the trouble.”

The two of you settle on the couch, blankets draped over your legs as you sip the hot chocolate. It’s rich and creamy, with just the right hint of peppermint, and you can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“This is perfect,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See what happens when you let me help?”

He nudges you playfully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the hot chocolate queen. But next year, I’m making it on my own. No supervision.”

“You’re never living this down, Tony,” you reply, grinning up at him. “But nice try.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, the snow falling outside and the warmth of his arms making it the perfect end to the day.

The apartment is quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace video looping on the TV and the faint hum of Christmas music in the background. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from the tree lights, the perfect backdrop for the growing pile of wrapping paper at your feet. It's Christmas morning, and for the past half-hour, you and Tony have been exchanging gifts, both of you trying (and mostly failing) to keep your emotions in check.

Tony’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the pajamas you picked out for him—flannel pants and a red shirt that says “Official Cookie Tester.” His hair is a mess from sleep, and he looks so boyishly excited every time he hands you a new box that you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

Your own pile of gifts so far includes a pair of earrings that match the necklace he got you last year, a first edition of your favorite book, and a framed photo of the two of you from your first vacation together, one of his rare sweet gestures that never fail to make your heart swell.

“Okay, your turn,” you say, handing him a flat, rectangular box with a silver bow.

He narrows his eyes at it playfully, shaking it gently. “Feels suspiciously light. Did you get me socks?”

“I’d never waste good wrapping paper on socks,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Just open it.”

He flashes you a grin before tearing into the paper, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees what’s inside. It’s a custom leather-bound notebook embossed with his initials—a thoughtful, elegant gift you’d spent weeks planning.

“I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately,” you explain, watching his face closely. “I figured you could use something a little more…official.”

Tony runs his fingers over the cover, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. Then he looks up at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He clears his throat, a telltale sign he’s feeling emotional, and sets the notebook carefully aside before grabbing a box from behind him. “All right, your turn,” he says, handing it to you with a slightly smug expression. “Let’s see if I can top that.”

You laugh, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a delicate bracelet inlaid with tiny gemstones, each one sparkling in the light. It’s understated but stunning—classic Tony.

Your breath catches as you lift it out of the box, and you glance up at him. “Tony, this is—”

“—just a little something,” he interrupts, brushing off your awe with a wave of his hand. “Figured you could use more jewelry to match your impeccable taste.”

You set the bracelet down carefully and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.”

He hugs you back, his hand warm against your back. “Love you more,” he murmurs, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

When you pull back, you swipe at your eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, before I cry and ruin the moment, I think it’s time for the last gifts.”

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Tony says, his grin returning as he reaches for a small, sloppily wrapped box on the coffee table. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You hand him a box of your own, equally poorly wrapped, and exchange a knowing look. “You first,” you say, gesturing to his gift.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips into the paper with an enthusiasm usually reserved for high-stakes projects, and when he finally pulls out the contents, he freezes. His hand lifts the small ceramic frog in a Santa hat—the one you’d teased him about at the Christmas market.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“Way,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I couldn’t let Frank the Frog end up in someone else’s house. He belongs with us.”

Tony stares at the frog, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. Then he looks at you, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and affection. “You are ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you bought this.”

“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He sets the frog carefully on the coffee table, like it’s a priceless artifact, and then leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering. “You’re the best,” he whispers. “Seriously. This might be the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, though your cheeks flush at his words.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing to the box in your lap. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

You laugh, unwrapping the box, and the moment you see what’s inside, your laughter turns to a choked gasp. It’s the snow globe from the Christmas market—the one with the tiny snow-covered village you couldn’t stop staring at.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice wavering.

“I did,” he replies, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Figured if I couldn’t have Frank the Frog, the least I could do was make sure you got this.”

You lift the globe out of the box, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

“Tony…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t start crying,” he warns, though his own eyes are suspiciously bright. “You’re gonna set me off.”

You laugh wetly, shaking your head as you set the snow globe on the coffee table next to the frog. “I can’t believe we both bought the stupid things.”

He laughs too, leaning back against the couch with an incredulous shake of his head. “We’re a mess.”

“A perfect mess,” you correct, leaning against him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Agreed. And now Frank and the snow globe can live happily ever after. A Christmas miracle.”

You snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice smug but affectionate.

You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, I do.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, he grins. “Best Christmas ever?”

“Best Christmas ever,” you agree, snuggling into his side as the snow falls softly outside, and the room fills with laughter and love.

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline. Spider-Man: Homecoming. Part 2

Part 1

F*ck up #4: More stupid mistakes with time frames. May plus two months is July. Peter has already been back to school for 5 weeks in this scene. It's not July, it's October (5 months later). Or let's ignore Peter's passport and CW and count backwards: early October minus two months is July/early August. Peter came home from school when he met Tony at his apartment, if you remember.

October 9, 2016 (Wednesday):

7:50 am - Peter arrives at Midtown High, where Ned tells him that he got a Lego Death Star set that they can build together. Peter tells him "yes, but not today", as he is going on a "Stark internship."

11:38 am - after Physics, Peter creates Web fluid 3.01 during Chemistry.

12:35 pm - lunchtime. Peter and Ned stare at Liz Allan.

1:15 pm - Academic Decathlon practice. Peter tells Mr. Harrington that he cannot participate and go to Washington because of his "internship". Flash takes his place on the team.

2:45 pm - end of classes. Peter finally goes to his "internship".

~3 pm - he buys gummy worms and a sandwich at Delmar's, leaves his clothes and backpack among the trash cans, puts on his high-tech suit, and goes to play Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man for the next few hours.

Note: the expiration date of the gummy worms is "03-16-18". These gummies have a shelf life of 548 days which means they were made on September 14, 2016.

Between 3 pm and 8 pm - Peter's backpack disappears along with the trash he left it among.

~7:30 pm - after finishing his patrol, Peter sends his report to Happy's voicemail while eating churros bought for him by an old lady he helped.

7:40 pm - a group of thugs in Avengers masks with alien-tech weapons rob an ATM below where he is sitting. He tries to stop them, but fails to prevent them from using their weapons, which results in the destruction of Delmar's Grocery across the street.

F*ck up #5: The sun was still above the horizon when the robbery began. When it ended minutes later, it was pitch dark.

8 pm - Happy supervises the packing in Avengers Tower. He takes the call when Peter calls him again. He tells Peter that Tony has sold the Tower and they are moving to the Compound upstate.

Note: let's remember that "next week" includes October 14-20.

The guy who tried to break into his own car is still "glued" to it by an old version of Peter's web, which dissolves after 6-7 hours (deleted scene, 6:45).

~8:30 pm - Peter crawls to his room as Ned witnesses. Peter makes him promise not to tell anyone that he is Spider-Man and sends him out.

9:30 pm - Peter and May have dinner at Prachya Thai. Peter tells May that he is tired because of his "internship". They see the breaking news about the robbery. The owner flirts with May.

October 10, 2016 (Thursday):

~7 am - on the way to school, as they pass the scene of yesterday's crime, Ned asks Peter questions about the spider that bit him.

8 am - 2:45 pm - he continues to torment Parker with questions about his alter ego until he blurts out that "Peter knows Spider-Man" in gym class, and Liz invites them to her party.

~9 pm - party at Liz's house.

Peter changes into his Spider-Man suit outside when he sees a strange explosion in the distance. He goes to investigate and finds Toomes' smugglers attempting to sell weapons to petty criminal Aaron Davis.

9:30 pm - Ned exposes Peter by calling him. Peter chases the smugglers' van until he is caught by the Vulture.

Note: Peter's phone says it's 9:30 pm.

And then we have this shot of Toomes' phone, which says it's 9:27 pm (going back in time), but also look at the month. Yeah, it's too blurry to tell for sure, but from what I know about how months are written, it can only be "March." Remember this f*ck up (#6), because we'll come back to it in the future.

Peter falls into a lake. Tony saves him by sending his remote-controlled suit.

~9:40 pm - Peter tells Tony about the Vulture and the smugglers. Tony shows him that the suit is empty and he is actually in India. Tony tells Peter to call Happy the next time he encounters that weapon, not to get into dangerous situations, just be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and to start thinking about college.

Tony ends the call and leaves the Indian wedding he was attending for some mysterious reason.

~9:50 pm - on the way back, Peter stumbles upon a piece of alien tech that has fallen out of the van. Ned calls him to tell that he shouldn't go back to the party and that they'll see each other tomorrow.

Note: remember this frame too, because in Part 3 we will need it for another f*ck up.

Toomes and his smugglers return to their base. "Tinkerer" Mason informs him that he has completed the design of the high-altitude vacuum seal. Toomes kills Shocker #1, levels up Shocker #2, and sends him out to find the weapon they lost.

October 11, 2016 (Friday):

Between 8 am and 2:45 pm - Peter and Ned disconnect the alien power source from the weapon during a workshop class.

3 pm - Shocker #2 and another smuggler are searching for the weapon at Midtown High. Peter places a tracker on them.

Note: the days when the chess club meets - Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

4 pm - Night - Peter and Ned track down the smugglers at Parkers' apartment and discover that they have a lair in Maryland (not really). Peter decides to use his participation in the Academic Decathlon to check out the location.

When was the Decathlon?

The movie gives us two options (which is f*ck up #7):

September 14

October 13-15

What we know for sure: a) it happened over a weekend; b) it only took 2 days; c) the school year already started at least 5-6 weeks ago (Tony’s words), but no more (this is definitely no later than mid-October); d) the gummy worms Peter bought at Delmar's were made on September 14, 2016.

So here's the conclusion:

It can't be September. So it's October.

It couldn't have been exactly October 13-15 because it only took 2 days, not 3 (f*ck up #8).

But it was around these dates, because of the 5-6 weeks.

This way we get October 12-13 (Sa-Su in SMH's calendar).

October 12, 2016 (Saturday):

~12 pm - Peter rejoins the Decathlon team and they depart for DC.

Note: the drive from Queens to Washington, D.C. takes about 5 hours. Assuming dinner time is 6 pm and she needs an hour to attend the protest, the departure time is 12 pm.

3 pm - Happy receives a notification from the tracker in Peter's suit that Peter has left New York. Happy calls him.

5 pm - the bus arrives in DC.

~7 pm - Peter removes the tracker from his suit and asks Ned to disable the Training Wheels protocol.

~9 pm - Peter leaves for the mission, leaving the glowy thing with Ned. May is informed that he has left the hotel room.

The AI ​​in his suit activates, "thinking" that he has successfully completed the TW protocol. Peter gains access to the suit's full capabilities.

Note: in this shot, there is a timeline at the bottom of the HUD showing Saturday night.

~10 pm - he and the AI ​​find the smugglers lying in wait for a DoDC truck.

The Vulture robs the truck. Peter tries to stop him, but ends up knocked unconscious and locked in the back of the truck, which takes him to the DoDC vault.

October 13, 2016 (Sunday):

Early morning - while Peter waits for the doors to open, he names the AI ​​Karen and goes through the refresher course for his suit during the first 37 minutes of his stay there.

Karen informs him that the glowy thing Ned is carrying is a Chitauri explosive energy core.

Peter tries 246 code combinations to open the door until 247 is successful.

~8 am - Ned leaves his hotel room for the Decathlon final with the energy core in his backpack. Peter returns on passing cars.

~9 am - Academic Decathlon Finals. Midtown wins thanks to MJ.

~10 am - the team celebrates at the Washington Monument. They go inside for a tour when the irradiated core explodes in an elevator at the top of the Monument.

Peter arrives and saves everyone.

Toomes sees on the news that Spider-Man saved his daughter.

Night - the team returns to Queens.

Part 3

MCU Timeline: The Infinity Saga

[saint-ajax]

༒︎ OCT. 03 | IRON MAN

༒︎ KINKTOBER

TW: 18+ ORAL SEX | FORCED BLOWJOB | ONE NIGHT STAND | P IN V SEX | NOT PULLING OUT

 “Mr. Stark! Excuse me, Mr. Stark!” you run in your heels to chase the billionaire about to enter his car, only to be stopped by his security when you’ve finally reached him. You introduce your name in an attempt to stop him, “from Vanity Fair magazine. Can I ask you a couple of questions?” 

   You almost yell in effort for him to hear you out as had his back on you. While the man on his right is Happy Hogan, your research and observation tells you that he is Stark’s chauffeur and friend. They thought they were being slick with their whispers but you clearly see them pass signals if you were cute.

   “She’s cute.”

   “She’s all right?” 

   Tony turns around and gives you the go, “Hi, yeah, okay, go.” 

   As the guards free your way to approach the boss, you start. Questions well thought-out, written on your notes, tape recorder running, you smile at him. “You’ve been called the De Vinci of our time. What do you say to that?”

   “Absolutely ridiculous, I don’t paint.”

   He quickly answers, deadpan. You keep your eye contact straight, ready to ambush with another question.

   “And what do you say to your other nickname, Merchant of Death?” your eyes slightly narrow, knowing references behind how the nickname was born.

   He nods, his furrowed brows indicating he’s a touch impressed. “That’s not bad,” then he continues, guessing your college. “Let me guess, Berkeley?” 

   “Close enough. It’s Brown.” 

   “Well, Ms. Brown, it’s an imperfect world, but it’s the only one we’ve got. I guarantee you, the day weapons are no longer needed to keep the peace,” you nod as you listen intently. “I’ll start making bricks and beams for baby hospitals.”

    Your eyes narrow at him, disappointed yet not surprised. 

   “Rehearse that much?” you bite back.

   He raises an eyebrow, diva to diva. “Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime.” 

   You agree with a nod, “I can absolutely see that. For a diva like you.”

   He smirks at your retort, “I’d like to show you first-hand.” Then, it was your turn to smirk. You admit it, he’s definitely a smash. But, you’re not going back home with a sarcastic, mocking answer after fighting to be in that spot at the moment. If it was needed, you would’ve pulled Christine Everhart’s hair just to be assigned to interview Stark. The mean bitch deserves it anyway. You've been competing with her since college.

   “We’re not parting ways without a serious answer, Mr. Stark.”

   You were that desperate— and flirty— enough to make threats.

   “Well, you see, that just works on my end, Ms. Brown.”

𖤐

   Then you find yourself on his bed, intense make out session until the both of you find his bedroom in his gigantic mansion. Your lust is as aggressive as an untamed lion, you strip him of his clothes as you do yourself without breaking the kiss.

   His goatee brushing against your skin as you meet every crash of his soft lips. He’s lying on his bed, while you lock his waist with your bare legs, you kiss his jaw. You leave a trail of kisses down his neck, as you reach down to his chest, a strong whiff of his axe body spray fills your nostrils making you chuckle.

   “What?” he asks. 

   “I like your cologne,” you sneer.

   “You think that’s funny?”

   “No,” you shake your head as you snicker.

   He flips over your positions easily. You’re now holding up your torso using your elbows, while he kneels, locking your body in between his legs. He was looking down at you, his cock ready to plunge into your mouth, “Let’s find out if you still find it funny choking on my dick, huh?” your expression was barely able to change when he instantly slams his hard cock on your throat. Your tongue was forced to stretch out, welcoming his warm meat. While you cough as you try to widen the opening of your mouth as your eyes look up at him. 

   He holds on the back of your head, pushing it down for his tip to meet the back of your throat. He slams his hips as well roughly while you make slobbering sounds, frothing the base of his stiff dick with your saliva.  

   He groans back as he keeps on abusing your mouth. Face fucked is what you are as you scratch his thigh, begging for air while your mascara run down your cheeks. Your plush lips meet the skin of his punic bone as he pushes down your face, while he trembles from forcing you to swallow his generous load of cum. 

   He finally releases your mouth, you swallow first before being able to catch your breath, your chest rising as you inhale.

   But he isn’t finished just yet, he crawls down your legs, splitting them wide open before launching in  to devour you. He inhales the smell of your cunt. You feel his breathing on your core as he licks it whole. Flattening his tongue on the surface of your entrance up to your woken clit.

   He dips his tongue inside, using the liquid he gathered as lube on your swollen clit. Swirling his tongue on your nub makes you quiver. Then he sucks on it, licking your pussy was a great way to shut you up and make you shudder with just his tongue. Equally, you cum on his mouth. He lather on your labia, not wasting a single drop of your juices. 

  He rises and meets your face to kiss you, distracting you as he centers his dick and enters your pussy slowly. As you let go of the kiss, he pushes in and you moan. He drags it out and slams it back in, gentle as ever before landing on a pace to his liking. Your boobs bounces at the force of his thrusts while he holds on to your legs.

   His balls slapping on your cunt was making you mewl as he stuffed your cunt full. He leans down to crash your lips with his once more. His pace was getting sloppy as your pussy tightened around his dick, causing it for him to hold back harder.

  Your legs cages his back, while your arms are around his neck. He started thrusting harder and harder, pounding on you faster. He was chasing the high with you. And it was getting closer. Few more rough poundings and he was shuddering with his mouth slightly open as he reached his climax. While you whimper as another orgasm hits you. 

   He keeps on thrusting, savoring the pleasure. Your legs shake as his hard dick drags an orgasm out of you and fills you up of his warm, creamy load. He spurts his strings of whites inside your womb, while you, a slut for him, moans from it. Too drunk from the high to object.

   “My old man had a philosophy; “Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy,” he blurts out, catching you off guard.

   “What? That’s a nice line for a guy with a big stick.”

   He chuckles, considering his stick still inside of you.

   “There’s your serious answer, now we part.”

   He groans in your ear as he slid his dick out of your dripping cunt. 

𖤐

    “A beautiful morning, mademoiselle. A bright day ahead waits for you.”

    A robotic manly voice wakes you. You slowly wake up, the window slowly blinding you from the, in fact, a bright day outside the ceiling to floor window. You were naked, you looked around to find clothes from last night scattered around the room. You stand up and find a great fucking view. You were definitely up the mountains as you looked down at the sea.

   Once you settle and comprehend the situation in front of you, you can't find your clothes. So, you picked up Tony’s shirt from last night and wore it to find him.

   You went downstairs to his living room looking for him. Until a beautiful blonde woman appears from another room seemingly holding your clothes. “I’ve got your clothes here. They’ve been dry-cleaned and pressed, and there’s a car waiting for you outside that will take you anywhere you'd like to go.” 

   You’ve never been grateful to a blonde woman. “You didn’t have to do that, thank you so much,” you say, genuinely grateful for saving you the trouble. “Wait. You must be the famous Pepper Potts.”

   She smiles gently, “Indeed I am.”

   “It is so nice to meet you. I absolutely respect you and what you do considering who you work for,” you say as you let go of the handshake.

   She laughs at your jest towards Stark. “That means a lot. Thank you.” She sends you outside with a friendly chat before you make your way back home.

[ravensspeck]

A list of some of my favorite Peter Parker/Spider-Man fics! (that no one asked for)

PART 1: Team Red/Vigilante Peter/BAMF Peter

Inimitable by deniigiq

“Peter, is it supposed to be doing that?” One of his students asked him. He looked up to see the industrial-strength magnets he’d collected for this lab trying to crack through the glass between them to be reunited. The glass splintered.

“Yeah, no. That’s totally fine,” he lied. Then he inconspicuously chased everyone to the corner of the lab, donned a glove, and smashed the glass so that it wouldn’t splinter and stab someone in the eye in its explosion.

His students cheered.

He needed a drink.

Peter gets called back to the city at the age of 25 to help mitigate the rapidly increasing crime rate. He's in way over his head, so he sets out to re-establish Team Red.

45,483 words - 14/14 chapters

in an empty moral space by blueh

Then, “You want Spider-Man?”

“In exchange for your intern,” High-heels affirms.

“Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark repeats. He sounds more amused than worried for Peter’s apparent safety.

also known as: Peter Parker is held hostage…in order to get to Spider-Man. Throw in some Accords reconciliation and, well, Peter’s life just got a whole lot weirder.

5,403 words - 1/1 chapters

arachnid decathlon by blueh (Series: 2 works)

No one ever really tells you what to do in the case of bus explosions, field trips, hostage situations, and identity reveals. Of course, the aftermath is ten times worse and, well, Peter just considers himself lucky that he doesn't have to figure that stuff out on his own.

(First work) 18,378 words - 2/2 chapters; (Second work) 12,657 words - 2/2 chapters

The Lost and Forgotten by Litcraz

In order to save everyone's lives, Peter is forced to give up memories - their memories of him. As a result, he is left entirely alone in a world where no one knows he exists. After finally moving on with his life, a new threat arises, bringing Peter back directly into the Avengers' path.

272,413 words - 32/32 chapters

Fake Out by PinkAvidReader

“Are we on the same page?” Matt asked.

“We’re so gonna get caught.” Peter bemoaned.

“We are not on the same page.” Matt acknowledged.

They were soon enough, though, because what other option was there? The cops were coming, and there was no way to avoid them.

Hence, Matt was a concussed blind man and Peter was the terrified adolescent who'd stuck by his side.

5,397 words - 1/1 chapters

Peter Parker vs. Billionares, Boundaries, and Bad Recruitment Strategies by hopeless_hope

Tony is already moving towards the door and talking about how this might be dangerous, and he better tell his guardian, and Peter doesn’t even think before webbing Tony’s hand to the door, because wow. Fuck this guy.

“Don’t tell Aunt May,” Peter says firmly, mildly impressed with his own audacity. “Especially because I’m not going.”

Tony shoots him an incredulous look. “Of course you are. You’re on my team.”

“Your team? See, you haven’t even told me what you need me for,” Peter points out.

Tony pauses for a second before saying,“Think of it as a game of capture the flag with the Avengers except instead of a flag, we’re trying to capture some Avengers.”

or

Peter learns how to say "no" and stick to his boundaries. Mostly.

2,734 words - 1/1 chapters

In For A Penny by gender_bender08

Peter meets Daredevil when the man saves him from a shootout.

He meets Deadpool when the guy’s trying to steal a car.

He meets the Punisher when Red brings him to the gym.

He meets Jessica Jones when she corners him on a streetlight.

He meets Hawkeye when Jessica’s hired to solve one of his assassinations.

All of this to say, he meets a lot of people before he meets Tony Stark.

6,085 words - 1/1 chapters

HONORABLE MENTION: CROSSOVER FIC

time flies by (bye) by WHYISEVERYNAMETAKEN (Spider-Man/Batman crossover)

“Maybe," Peter thought, "I can make a life here."

Hence the tears and the guilt and the grief, because was Peter allowed to move on? Was he allowed to… to leave it all behind? Leave all the bad things in the past?

Peter was "The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!" after all, and wasn’t he letting Queens - his people - down if he didn’t fight tooth and nail to get back to them?

or

Peter's tired. He's so tired, and he doesn't know what to do, but maybe things will get better.

(They do.)

113,538 words - 13/13 chapters

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 37 – ACTION / ADVENTURE

One Hell of a Wild Ride by missbecky

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 2,817 Tags: Car Chase, Adrenaline-Fueled Sex, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: A recon mission turns into something a little more than Steve and Tony bargained for. Good thing Tony's got a fast car.

Reasons why I love it: Holy shit, the suspense in this is unreal. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. And the fact that the whole thing ends in cathartic thank-fuck-we're-alive sex makes it even better. I love this fic so much, and I bet you will too, so I hope you check it out!

absence makes the heart by fantalaimon

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 4,835 Tags: Kidnapping, Humor, First Dates

Summary: “One night,” Tony says, and just flies himself bodily into one of the canary yellow beekeepers like a red and gold battering ram. “I ask for one measly night. One single goddamn night with my boyfriend—” “Oh, is the boyfriend label on now?” Clint asks over the comms.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is the perfect mix of action and humor. The dialogue is hilarious, oh my god, there are so many fantastic lines. And I especially loved Steve and Tony's interactions with the female AIM goon, she's a hoot. Definitely check this one out if you haven't already, it's fantastic!

isolated system by isozyme

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,737 Tags: Blood Loss, Bombs, Hurt Tony

Summary: Here’s the basics: Tony’s bleeding internally, going into shock, and there’s an improvised explosive device fastened to the ceiling of the subway above his head.

Reasons why I love it: I love the Tony Whump in this, he's such a badass. And Steve's heart must have stopped multiple times over the comms, the poor guy. This fic is amazing, and if you haven't read it yet, you definitely should!

If I Die Young by MusicalLuna

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 7,778 Tags: Superfamily, Alien Invasion, Hurt Peter

Summary: Tony and Steve are trying to keep their little boy (who's not so little anymore) out of the superhero business for as long as possible, but when a kid's as stubborn as Peter is, they can't always stop him. And sometimes things go wrong. Really, really wrong.

Reasons why I love it: God, this whole fic makes me so goddamn emotional. Everyone on the team being worried sick for Peter while Peter just wants to protect his dads, it's just - agh, it makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I love this fic, and if you haven't yet, you should definitely read it!

What You Don't Know by Sineala

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 9,808 Tags: Marvel Noir, Identity Porn, Hero Worship

Summary: In 1941, two strangers meet in a bar. And then Captain America meets Iron Man. And then Steve Rogers meets Tony Stark. They get it right. Eventually. And also they fall out of an airplane.

Reasons why I love it: Tony truly is a lunatic, and I (and Steve) sure as hell love him for it. The airplane sequence is really fun, and the way it ends gives me all of the delicious tension that I love in action fics. And who doesn't love Noir identity porn? This fic is a joy to read, and I hope you go and experience it for yourself!

[tonysslut]

spare parts

pls do not copy or repost my work

hiii! i know it's been forever since i last posted but i found this in my drafts and decided to finish it! ending isn't great but that's never been my strong suit anyways. hope you enjoy! <3

tony stark masterlist

metal clanking against the floor startles you awake. you groan as you sit up, not bothering to look over at tony's side of the bed. rubbing your eyes, you make your way out of the small apartment and down the stairs.

tony was crouched in front of the old car, his elbows rested against his knees, head hung low in annoyance. you kneeled behind him, resting you head on his back as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

you could feel his tightened muscles relax as he registered your touch.

"didn't mean to wake you." he huffs out, rubbing his hand across his face before turning around to face you. he sat on the floor, turning his body to grab you by your waist, pulling you into his lap.

"you promised you wouldn't wake up to work on it." you spoke, stroking your thumbs under his eyes as he rested his head against the car.

his dark under eyes gave away how tired he was, but the urge to finish this was stronger than the need to sleep.

"i know, i'm too far in to stop now." he groaned, rubbing circles into your lower back. his hands on your body suddenly gave you an idea.

you lean into him, pressing your chest against his as you placed kisses on his exposed neck. you felt a content hum vibrate his throat, quickly turning into a low moan as you started to rock your hips back and forth.

"what're you up to?" he says with a raised brow, sitting up so you're face to face.

you smile at him, nudging your nose with his. "i'm distracting you." you whisper before kissing him.

tony leaned into the kiss, his hands gripped your waist, causing you to arch into him.

you instantly turn into putty in his hands, the kiss becomes feverish. the both you pressing into each other to get impossibly closer.

hands start to wonder, you feel tonys big hands cup your breasts gently squeezing as you run your hands under his black tank top. you feel his soft belly before roaming lower, dipping your hand into his sweats to pull his already hard cock out.

you spit into your hands, smearing the saliva onto his head as you tease him. he jerks his hips up, trying to get you to give him more, but you take your time, working your hand around his head, slowly stroking his shafts. slow movements that drive him crazy.

"c'mon, don't be a tease." he groans, leaning in to kiss you.

you decide to just give in, working him up as affecting you just as much. using your free hand, you move your shorts to the side, lifting your hips so you can slide his cock inside you.

he moans into your mouth, finally feeling your warmth. you lift yourself up just to drop back down, digging your nails into tony's shoulder at how full you feel. nothing could compare to him.

tony places his hands on your ass, encouraging you to roll your hips. each roll has a wave of pleasure washing over the both of you. it was addictive, you couldn't get enough. he grips your ass, moving you faster, trying to push himself deeper inside you.

"look at you, so pretty riding my cock, baby." he groans, eyes glazed over as he watches you.

his words just spur you on. you manage to move your already sore hips faster, legs burning but you didn't care, all you cared about was chasing your release.

tonys hot breath fanned across your neck as you threw your head back, letting out a loud moan when you felt his thumb connect with your clit.

"cum with me, baby. i need to feel you pulse around my cock."

you look back at tony and kiss him. he wasted no time in sliding his tongue into your mouth. that was all it took for you to reach your high.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head, incoherent moans leaving your mouth as tony continued to thrust into you, which only prolonged your orgasm.

you heard tony choke out a moan but feeling his warm release coat your walls, grinding against you to make sure he was buried to the hilt.

tony slumps against the car, neck resting against the cool metal. you rest your head on his shoulder, legs almost numb as you felt a wave of sleep take over you.

tony ran his hand up and down your back, and you pressed kisses into his chest.

"will you come to bed now?" you asked, sitting up to look at him.

he gives you a sleepy nod, helping you off of him and up the stairs. you stopped by the bathroom to freshen yourself up as he laid out new clothes for you to wear.

you both slide into bed, tony quickly pulling you close to him. it doesn't take long for his soft snores to fill the room. you knew he probably wouldn't sleep long but just knowing he was getting some rest settled your nerves.

likes, reblogs, and feedback are highly appreciated! ੈ♡˳

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, survivor guilt, suicide ideations, will add as we go on

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: it's hard to realize how fast time goes by sometimes. Also i know some people are asking for a tag list but i kinda lost track so i'm sorry but i won't make one i think :/

You go back to Clint's the same day, late at night, in the car you borrowed while everyone else went to Tony Stark's funeral. Your dad's words are still resonating inside your mind, despite trying your hardest to ignore them. You don't know what to do, or what decision to make. Lucky for you, something is there to distract you when you arrive in the form of the lights being on on the porch of the house. You frown; it's almost 2am, so you expected everyone to be asleep at this point. But no. You recognize the redhead sitting on the bench and a slight wave of worry washes over you. Why was she still awake? Did something happen? You exit the car and close the door as silently as you can before you join the spy on the porch. She's holding a beer in her hands, and you guess it's not her first one seeing a few empty vessels are down on the windowsill behind her.

"Did something happen?"

Natasha looks up at you with a questioning eye at your worried tone, then it dawns on her she must look pretty miserable, so she shake her head to answer you.

"No, nothing happened. Just… grieving. It feels weird after arboring so much hope." The high of hoping to see their plan succeed against the cost of it. She clears her throat that started to constrict again, and offers you the seat next to her. "Care to join me?"

You agree, and she grabs a bottle to give to you from the cooler on the other side of the bench. You take it and open it in one swift move. She bring her bottle closer to yours for a small toast.

"To saving the world, and the heroes we lost."

"To coming back to a life you don't want," you answer in kind.

You clink your bottles together. Both of you drink. There is a lull in the night that you both enjoy, before you break the silence first. You're hesitant at first.

"You know… for what it's worth, I'm really sorry. It must be really hard."

She sighs after taking a swig of the beer. It stings, the loss, but more so, the what ifs. What if she'd been there, what if she could have saved him. Obviously, it likely wouldn't have changed the final result, but maybe, just maybe… she lets out a sigh.

"Sorry about your reunion with your parents. Sounds like it didn't go so well." She prefers to change the subject. No point in wallowing now. You take the change of topic gracefully, understanding she wishes to talk about something else.

"It went well, actually. We're having a barbecue on sunday. You and the crew are invited."

She snorts, then raises an eyebrow when she realizes you're serious. She tilts her head and pinches her lips. "You know what? Sure, I'll be there. Maybe I can go as your date," she offers with a wink.

Your heart skips a beat at those words and you blink a few times. Your date? Wait, is she serious? You look at her, trying to read her and make sure you're not hallucinating. There is a bit of a blush on her cheeks, but you quickly attribute it to her drinking. She's probably just slightly drunk and teasing you, you reason before you roll your eyes.

"Sure, why not," you answer, now certain that there's nothing serious there. "Just get ready 'cause my mom is going to ask you a lot of questions."

"I faced death and came back, I'm sure I can deal with her. I'm very charming."

You both laugh and you shake your head, drinking more of your beer. You were glad to see that at least she could still laugh even on this heavy day. You have no idea that it's because she feels so much lighter now that you agreed to have her be your date, after she got to reflect on the fleeting nature of life some more, and finally decide to take the plunge one way or another.

"Well, as charming as you are, I think I need to get some rest," you admit with a yawn that you hide behind your hand, your eyes watering with your need to sleep. It is 2am after all. It makes Natasha smiles at how cute you are, right as she nods.

"Alright, I'll join you soon. Oh, and careful in the living room, someone is sleeping on the sofa."

"Explains what you're doing outside." You put your hands on your knees, ready to get up.

"Truthfully? I was also waiting for you," she admits with a slight blush. You're surprised at the admission and almost lose your balance trying to get up. You almost can't believe your ears, but as usual, you decide to ignore the way her words make you feel. You turn around to look at her and try to not notice the way the pink of her cheeks makes you want to caress them and lean forward to kiss her, or how fragile she suddenly looks from where you're standing.

"You were?"

"Someone had to tell you we had another guest." She arches a teasing eyebrow. There is another reason, not so obvious to you, but she likes to keep you on your toes. You laugh behind your hand and nod.

"Obviously. Alright. Good night, Natasha."

She smiles at you, it is more tender than anything she ever said to you so far. "Good night. And thank you for checking on me."

"Anytime."

You then disappear inside the house, careful not to wake up the sleeping form on the couch, and go to your room. You easily fall asleep, and after you do, you're joined by a sleepy redhead who, after a minute of internal debate, finds a way into your arms. After all, you said yes to a date with her, didn't you?

*

You frown as you awaken, feeling something tickling your face. You scrunch up your nose and get your face out of… what was it even? You opened an eye only to be met with red and blond hair everywhere up in your face. That's when you notice that Natasha is in your arms, keeping you warm and cozy and, oh god you're blushing like crazy now that you notice what your hand is. You quickly take it off and get a groan from the smaller woman.

The sound of protest makes you blush even more, so you decide to find a way out of there really fast, or as fast as you can considering that extracting yourself without waking the woman is as easy as taking a bear cub from its mama bear. But, against all odds, you succeed and leave for the bathroom. There, you take the time for your heart to calm down and your blush to recede before heading downstairs.

How did you end up in that position? You aren't particularly cuddly during the night, at least not accidentally, so something must have happened. You just hoped Natasha didn't notice anything.

When you arrive downstairs, you notice that you're not the first one awake. There is a woman with long red hair there too, and you recognize Wanda Maximoff. She must have been the surprise guest who was staying on the sofa last night. You offer her a nod.

"Hi. Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Wanda," she goes, and you grab some of the coffee she made. She seems lost in her thoughts, and you notice the rim of red around her eyes, like she cried. You're unsure about what to do before you take a seat opposite from her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you try, and it startles her. She scoffs.

"Everyone keeps saying that, it doesn't feel like it means anything anymore." You nervously wet your lips and play with your mug. She's not done. "You don't even know me, you know nothing of my grief."

She's being a bit of an ass, but you decide it was okay considering she looks at the end of her life.

"I don't, you're right. Doesn't mean I can't feel your sorrow and want to take a chunk of it away for you."

"Is that what it is? Or is it just pity?"

With those words, she stands up, jaw set and tears filling her eyes. She leaves the room, and you sigh. You have no idea what she's going through, and you feel bad for her, but there is nothing you can do about it. You stay in the kitchen for a few minutes longer, when Clint joins you. He notices Wanda is missing and sends you a questioning look in case you know anything.

"I tried to be civil," you simply say, and with a frown, he goes outside to try and comfort Wanda. Once again, you stay inside. Clearly you're not close enough to be of any help whatsoever, no matter how bad you feel for the woman.

Lucky for you, you don't have to think about it much longer when other people start to pour inside the kitchen. Apparently being able to properly rest is conducive to getting up early. You make small talk while you drink your coffee peacefully, until Natasha shows up.

You blush upon remembering the way you woke up, and try to act natural when she comes and sits next to you.

"Good morning," she says your way after greeting everyone else, her hand ghosting over your thigh briefly. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you tense slightly, awaiting the contact, but it never comes. Feeling your tension, Natasha decides against touching you. Maybe it was too soon for you, and she doesn't want to push you. "How are you doing?"

You force yourself to relax slightly, and a smile comes naturally when you answer her.

"Pretty good, but I don't think the new girl likes me."

"Give her time. She needs to heal first." You nod at Natasha's wisdom, even if you have no idea what she's talking about.

"I guess Tony mattered a lot to her, huh."

"Not really. It's more complicated than that. Don't worry about it too much." And with that, she captures your hand briefly. You can only nod in answer, and breathe again when she lets go of the contact. You immediately miss it and the way it makes you feel. The conversation from yesterday comes back to you and you think it's a good idea to actually ask what she meant when she offered to be your date, especially since you agreed.

"On another note," you start, "what did you–"

Before you can ask anything more a crashing sound came from outside and you both immediately stood up ready to fight. June comes running and turns to Natasha.

"Your friend is losing it, you need to do something."

"I need to go save Clint's ass. Talk later?" She offers and you nod, dumbfounded. Seems like you actually could have gotten in a lot of troubles by upsetting Wanda.

"Yeah, definitely. Hum, good luck. I feel like you might need it."

Natasha smirks, then puts her game face on before she goes through the door. There is a beat of silence between you and June before you decide that you might as well ask her opinion.

"So, I have a question," you start very hesitantly. Your friend gets her hand up almost in your face, as if she already knows what you're about to ask.

"Don't bother, I already know."

"You do?" You arch an eyebrow, and it doesn't stop June.

"You need to bang it out with superspy."

You sputter, blush, frown, and look at the woman in front of you.

"What the hell June?!"

"What? Don't tell me it wasn't about her!"

"It was, but come on!"

"I said my piece then." You bang your head on the table, and June looks out the window to see how the situation is going. She sees she still has time to keep going and sits opposite from you. "Okay, just, listen, I think she likes you, and I know you like her! Don't let it go to waste. We lost enough of our lives like that."

Of course, June has a point, whether you like it or not. You feel something for Natasha, but you're too scared to act upon it, and if she feels the same - which you doubt - she isn't going to wait forever for you, so you have to act. Or at least ask if you're right to doubt there is anything there instead of assuming. Be brave. You owe it to her.

"Alright, alright," you concede with a sigh. "I'll talk to her."

"Finally." She looks up at the sky in silent thanks and you roll your eyes at her theatrics. You decide it's time to give her a bit of a heart attack in turn.

"How is it going with Carol, by the way?" You ask in turn, a smirk adorning your lips. A very light blush takes root on her cheek. Got her.

Her answer comes in the form of a finger.

*

"Do you need some help with that?" You offer when you catch Natasha alone in your bedroom.

You came upstairs to tell her food is ready, and she was taking care of a cut in her back. Calming down Wanda went poorly, and even if she seemed apologetic after the facts, it wasn't going to heal the redhead's bruises. It was unfair, but you understood that grief could make you do crazy things.

"I could do with some help." Her admission is small.

You approach Natasha slowly and sit on the bed next to her, a leg under you, grabbing the first aid kit for some disinfectant and gauze. Carefully, she surrenders the material she's holding on the side of the kit and turns around so her back is facing you. You look at her skin which is peppered with scars, and you can only imagine all she went through. All the hurt, all the trauma, everything that led to her being in front of you right now, so vulnerable.

You start your work carefully. You learned how to take care of cuts and bruises during your travels.

"Do you ever wish you could take someone's place?" She asks you in the religious silence. There is a tremor in her voice that clues you in how serious the conversation is. You swallow your jokes and answer truthfully.

"The first few months after the abduction I did. Then I realized it meant someone else would be in my place so I stopped."

"I do. To take off the pain from my friends." Her words made no sense at first, but as you thought about it, you realized she is talking about lessening the pain of Wanda. Taking the place of her lover who died long ago now, but only moments before for the witch. Carol told you everything in a way only someone who wished they had been there could.

"Displacing people's grief wouldn't really lessen the pain. Just make it different."

"I still think I could have… maybe if I stayed…"

She can't bring herself to finish her sentence, but you understand. If she were dead maybe things would be different.

She hangs her head low. You sigh, almost groan at her truth. You finish patching her up, and lay your hand against her back. Against her scars. Her past laid bare against your palm.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here with us." With me, you don't add but still think so loudly you're sure she can hear you. If she understands the subtext, she says nothing about it.

"Thank you," she simply answers, still looking away, but relaxing against your touch. It's a moment of vulnerability, but more importantly of trust. It lasts until a shiver runs along her spine with the cold. She smoothly puts back her shirt and you put your hand away. She gets up, and when she turns around, she has a shy smile directed at you.

"I can smell the food, should we join everyone?" She extends a hand towards you, and you take it. In a swift move, she helps you up and brings you against her in a hug. "Thank you."

You hold her, hum when she rubs her nose against your neck, your heart ready to burst. You wish for this moment to last forever against your better judgment.

Damn you're in deep.

[scottxlogan]

StonyAUniverse Bingo Master List

It's that time of year again for another round up and this is my master list for the Stony AUniverse bingo up at @stonyauniverse that I had a blast participating in and helping out with. For anyone who loves these two I would highly recommend you heading on over and checking it out as there is a lot of fun to be had. Under the cut is my personal master list for my fills this round. Thanks to all that were part of the bingo! It was a lot of fun!!!!

Title: One Step Closer Author(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Peggy Carter Friendly, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Popstar, rock star Tony Stark, Rancher Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Divorced Steve Rogers, Divorced Tony Stark, Rehabilitation, References to Depression, Angst and Romance, Not Howard Stark Friendly, Drug Addiction, Swearing Summary: Tony Stark was pushed into popstar fame by his ambitious father early on, but over the span of more than two decades Tony has seen the highs and lows of stardom hitting rock bottom in more ways than one. Through it all there was always one person that Tony felt was his saving grace. Steve Rogers was always the one that got away and no matter how many times they tried to cross that line into love they couldn't quite get there. As Tony's once close friend and brief roommate, Steve turned Tony's world around in all the right ways until fate intervened, and they were pulled in separate directions. Now fresh out of rehab on his 45th birthday and looking to keep from making the same mistakes, Tony reflects on his past and follows his heart to new beginnings hoping that it's not too late to find his way back to Steve in his hopes for a second chance. Square Filled: T1: Multiple Orgasms, T2: AU: Popstar, T3: Unresolved Sexual Tension, T4: Car Sex, T5: Au: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48437332

Title: The Quest Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week: 1 Profession Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe, Treasure Hunting, Archaeologist Steve, Swearing, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Implied/Referenced Sex Summary: Archaeologist Steve Rogers finds himself in the thick of danger and adventure after teaming up with his former mentor's son and current sidekick Tony Stark to chase down a rare treasure set to unlock all of humanity's mysteries along the way. Square Filled: N2: AU: Archaeologist Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49077973

Title: Out with the Old... Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week Two: Time Period, Bingo Square Y1: AU Cashier Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Non-serum Steve, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, New Year's Eve, New York City, Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Sexual Content, Alcohol, Hook-Up, Hopeful Ending   Summary: AU: Alone on New Year's Eve in 1989 in New York City, Tony decides to go all out in throwing a solo party for himself until sexy cashier Steve offers him a better alternative to a night of drunken loneliness. Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49199674

Title: The Journey Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bucky/Steve/Tony Tags: Esta https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082 Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Anniversary, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom Tony Stark, Light BDSM, Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Restraints, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Role Playing, Dirty Talk, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Pole Dancing Summary: Steve and Tony decide to take a special trip for their anniversary together. To spice things up they decide to gift each other a vacation with Bucky who is ready and willing to be what they need to make their anniversary even more memorable. Will it prove to be exactly what they needed to strengthen their marriage or will they find something more in their playtime with Bucky? Square Filled: N5: AU Dancer Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082

Title: Just Like That...Back to Love Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Idiots in Love, Feelings Realization, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Swearing, Light Angst Summary: Super spy Steve Rogers reflects on the mission he and his work partner/on and off lover Tony Stark put behind him and what it means to their future moving forward where matters of the heart are concerned.   Square Filled: Week Three: No Powers, N3: Wrapping him up in a blanket  Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49366717

Title: What If We...? Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, AvX Fix-It Fic, Mention of the X-Men, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content Summary: Caught up in deciding what to do about the problem of the Phoenix returning to the world again and causing chaos, Tony offers Steve a suggestion to prevent a war between the Avengers and the X-Men from happening. It sounds like the perfect plan, but along the way Tony finds that perhaps there's something more beyond saving the world with Steve that he's looking to find in their conversation. Square Filled: AUgust Stony AUniverse: Week 4: Nice Try, Canon, Stony AUniverse Bingo N1: Friends to Lovers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49535506

Title: Lazy Weekend Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Domestic Fluff, Tony's POV, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff, Morning Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Established Relationship, contemplations, Reflection Summary: Snuggled in bed with his lovers, Tony contemplates how far they've come together from their sexy beginnings. Square Filled: O5: Domestic Fluff Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51525229

Title: Only In New York Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Mild Sexual Content, Awkward Flirting, Blind Date, Flirting, Miscommunication, Threesome - M/M/M, Shy Bucky Barnes, reclusive Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Summary: Tony grudgingly agrees to go out on a blind date in the city that Pepper has set up for him. In doing so Tony meets devastatingly handsome artist Steve Rogers who is catching Tony's eye in all the right ways. When a series of mishaps and misunderstandings brings Steve and Tony closer to one another, will it prove to be the spark they need to fuel the fire between them or will fate have other plans with Steve's sexy roommate Bucky in the picture?   Square Filled: S2: Meet Cute, Stony AUniverse JAnUary Week 1: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52923937

Title: Sweet Dreams Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Romantic Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Kissing, Anxiety Attacks, Insomnia Summary: For years Tony abandoned the idea of ever finding his soulmate, yet somehow after he's hit with a panic attack at one of the worst possible times and Steve comes around to comfort him, Tony discovers that perhaps his soulmate is closer than he thinks. Square Filled: O3: Free space Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53104438

Title: A Journey Through Time Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Endgame, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship Summary: Post endgame after Tony's death Steve makes the decision to go back in time to travel to the past to see Tony in the hopes of changing what's ahead for them. Together Tony and Steve share a touching reunion as Steve's journey leads him closer to fixing the mistakes of the past and being close to where he's always wanted to be. Square Filled: Y4: AU: Time Travel Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53155555

Title: After The War Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sexual Content, References to Depression, Aftermath of war, survivor Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Swearing Summary: Weeks after the battle with Thanos, Tony finds himself in a place where he's left feeling uncertain about himself and what remains of the man he once was. Lost in his struggles, Tony tries to sort his thoughts out, but struggles with his new life until Steve offers him a reason to get lost in a welcome distraction. Square Filled: Y2: Steve’s blush Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53443666

Title: The Gift Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Short One Shot, Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Tattoos, Artist Steve Rogers, Bonding, Romance, Short & Sweet Summary: Steve and Tony share a moment together after Steve puts his new artistry skills to the test in bringing to life a tattoo design he created for Tony. Square Filled: O2: Body Modification Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53486125

Title: Jealousy Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Miscommunication, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Reunions, Feelings Summary: For some reason even though it's been a while since Steve and Tony have been together, Steve can't shake the sudden burst of jealousy he feels in seeing Bucky and Tony getting along with one another. Steve knows it's for the best that his best friend and former lover are at peace with one another, yet Steve can't shake the unsettling ways it feels to be on the outside of things with Tony knowing that Tony's still the only one in his heart. Square Filled: Y5: Jealousy Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53830381

Title: Wrong Turn Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Tattoos, 5 Times, Romance, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers Summary: Tony reflects on the five times that Steve made a mark on his life while Steve takes a moment to consider the one time Tony made a mark on his Square Filled: O4: AU: Tattoo Artist Steve Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53831182

[marionluth]

Title: The Fast (Harley & Peter) & The Furious (Tony Damn STark)

Fandom: MCU (Ironman 3-Spider-Man(Tom Holland Movies))

Summary: "Harley, seriously, shut up! I swear, just—just let me handle this, okay? And stop smiling like you're enjoying this!”

"Who, me? Enjoying being chased by cops? Nah, I'm just thrilled to be the star of my own action movie. Can't wait to see how this one ends,” Harley quipped.

“You wanna know how it ends, Harley? By Tony coming to bail us out of jail, that’s how it ends! And then we’re in for the sequel,” Peter snapped, finally biting the bullet and pulling the car to a slow stop.

“Shit,” the younger teen mumbled.

Or

Harley and Peter manage to get tangled in an illegal street race, get arrested, and call Tony to bail them out.

Status: COMPLETE

Rating: T

Pairings: GEN (minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark)

Warnings: No warnings apply

Links: AO3

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics)The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies) Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Loki Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Loki (Marvel), Sharon Carter (Marvel), Melinda May, Phil Coulson Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Established Bucky Barnes/Loki, Mission Fic, Madripoor (Marvel), Magical Artifacts, Power Broker Sharon Carter (Marvel), Not Sharon Carter Friendly, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Flirting, Pet Names, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Loki (Marvel), Theft, Gunshot Wounds, Car Chases, Tony Stark's Cars, Coulson's Bus, Affection Language: English Collections: Marvel Rare Pair Collection, Marvel Rare Pairs Secret Santa 2023 Published: 2024-01-30 Words: 6,854 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

To prevent the Ka Stone from being purchased and in the wrong hands, Bucky and Loki are sent in by the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D to Madripoor, a place Bucky is far too familiar with. The mission, however, should be easy enough. Until it isn't and the Power Broker gets involved to keep it for an even higher paying client.