#Happy Hogan Deserves A Nap

[marvelous-writer]

Responsible for Making Sure You’re Responsible

Summary: Peter knows he’s hurt badly enough that he can’t just slap a bunch of band-aids on his injuries, and especially the giant, still-oozing puncture wounds on his back and along his shoulders from the tips of Toomes’ wings. But it’s not like he can just stumble into an emergency room and ask to get stitched up. So where to go instead?

May would have a heart attack if she saw him right now, not to mention immediately figure out his secret. Ned would also definitely freak out, probably waking his parents in the process. Mr. Stark was an option, but Peter wasn’t about to bother him, not after how the man had made it crystal clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Peter ever again.

So no hospital, no May, no Ned, and no Mr. Stark just left… Happy. 

Or: following his final fight with the Vulture, Peter is left grievously injured and in need of some serious help. Cue Happy to the rescue.

Word count: 6,880

A/N: Me and @blondsak‘s first collab!!!

Link to read on AO3

Peter doesn’t know how he made it from the Coney Island Cyclone all the way to Avengers Tower. To be honest, the entire journey was a bit of a blur as his steadily bleeding injuries throbbed painfully in protest from all the web-slinging. 

When his feet hit the landing pad of the Tower, Peter distantly wonders why he had decided to come here, of all places. Even through his foggy brain, he knows he’s hurt badly enough that he couldn’t just slap a band-aid on the many deep cuts, burns and bruises littering his whole body, especially the giant puncture wounds on his back and along his shoulders from the tips of Toomes’ wings. But then again, it’s not like he could just stumble into an emergency room and ask to get stitched up. At least, not wearing his original Spider-Man costume, which - though basically rags now - was still far too easily identifiable beneath all the stains and grime. 

As for going home, that was definitely ruled out—May would have a heart attack if she saw him right now. Peter could maybe have chanced going to Ned’s, but Ned would have almost definitely freaked out at the sight of him, which would have led to his parents waking up and Peter losing any hope of his secret - not that it was still much of one anymore, but still, he had to try, didn’t he? - staying under wraps. So Ned’s place was out, too. Mr. Stark was another option, but Peter wasn’t about to bother him, not after how the man had made it crystal clear in the form of a forced walk of shame from Brooklyn to Queens - in Hello Kitty pajama pants, no less - that he didn’t want anything to do with Peter ever again. 

So no hospital, no May, no Ned, and no Mr. Stark just left… Happy. 

It’s definitely not ideal, but the fact remains that Happy’s his best bet right now, and Peter, well—Peter is pretty desperate. And the only place he knows Happy could be was back at the Tower, from where he assumes the man had been overseeing the move before the plane took off and Peter’s night went from  really, really bad to totally screwed.

With a deep, weary sigh Peter limps towards the glass doors, one hand pressed firmly against a shoulder in a futile effort to staunch the worst of the bleeding, surprised to find that the door is unlocked as he steps inside. He’s too out of it to notice that the once well-furnished living room is now completely empty. He passes by the kitchen, looking around at the vacant space. He doesn’t exactly know where he’s going to be honest. There’s a small tingling at the back of his head, the only warning he gets before an unfamiliar face comes around the corner from the hallway, a small squeak of surprise coming from the man - a security guard, by the looks of his uniform - at the sight of him. 

“Don’t come any closer! I’ll—I’ll shoot!” the guard cries out, though it comes out shaky, like he’s scared or maybe just inexperienced. All the same Peter doesn’t hesitate to put up his throbbing arms in temporary submission, biting back a groan from the pain. The shaking flashlight suddenly stills on Peter’s chest, the guard taking in the tattered remains of Peter’s homemade suit. His going wide as he exclaims, “Wait—you’re Spider-Man! What are you doing here?” Then, all shakiness gone and replaced with excitement, “Are you here on Avengers business?” 

“No, it’s n-nothing like that,” Peter weakly replies. “I actually need to talk to–”

“I heard that you were, like, an honorary Avenger now,” the guard interrupts, seemingly not noticing Peter’s injured state. “Is that true? I mean, I saw that on The Bugle’s Twitter page but I wasn’t sure if it was true. But I guess you did  fight with Iron Man against the Rogue Avengers, which was totally awesome by the way! That basically means you are then, right?”

Peter’s head is spinning from all of the questions, worsening his pounding headache. He closes his eyes beneath what’s left of his mask, gritting his teeth. 

The guard must take his silence as affirmation, continuing, “I knew it! My buddy Marv keeps saying there’s no way they’d add a low-level vigilante from Queens to their roster, but then he’s always been more of a Cap guy and anyway, he’s from Brooklyn so what does he–”

“S-sorry, but—where’s Happy Hogan?” Peter interrupts with as much force as he can. He’s starting to feel really lightheaded, and he can’t afford to let himself pass out in front of an overexcited Spider-Man fan, and especially one who was obsessed enough to believe any Spider-Man news that came from The Bugle—a news site that Peter knows for a  fact  offers a substantial reward for any proof of Spider-Man’s identity. “L-look, I need to speak to Happy right now. It’s a-an emergency.”

“Uh, okay, sure,” the guard replies after a moment, looking slightly put out even as he pulls out his cell phone and starts swiping through it, putting it up to his ear as he continues to eye Peter curiously. Normally Peter would have no issue hearing the ringing and Happy picking up, but he’s just so tired. Instead finds himself zoning out even as the guard starts rambling to the other person about Spider-Man showing up, until–

Peter startles when someone pokes him in the arm, looking up to see the guard is now standing right in front of him, holding out his phone. “He says he wants to talk to you.”

Trying to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes, Peter nods and takes the device. “Hey, Happy.”

“Kid,” Happy replies with a sigh, the relief in his tone something Peter’s never heard from him before. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Peter agrees without thinking, then blinking slowly again, “but uh, about that–”

“Look, this line isn’t exactly secure,” Happy interrupts, and now Peter hears voices shouting in the background, along with what sounds like large trucks rumbling, “and neither is the tower anymore, for that matter. How about you head to my place? We’re just about finished getting the tech loaded and off the beach.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Peter replies numbly, the fog in his brain clearing just enough for him to memorize Happy’s address—relieved when he realizes it’s still in Manhattan, and in the Upper East Side at that. Happy doesn’t really come across as a glitzy kind of guy, but Peter supposes it makes sense that Mr. Stark would pay him very well, considering his job title and all.

“...still there, kid? You get that?”

“Wha’?” Peter asks dumbly, pulled out of a second daze in as many minutes. Man, he really needs to focus if he wants to make it to Happy’s in one piece. “Oh y-yeah, yeah. I’ll meet you there, Happy.”

There’s a pause then, as if Happy is mulling something over. But whatever it is he must let it go, saying instead, “I’ll see you there. And no dawdling at the churro stand, you hear me?” 

The line clicks before Peter can reply. Wearily he drops the phone from his ear, passing it back to the guard. “Thanks.”

Not wanting to invite further conversation, he immediately starts limping back toward the landing pad—only to come to a halt when the guard calls after him.

With a sigh Peter turns around, “Yeah?”

But where he expected the guard to bombard him with more questions, or maybe ask him for an autograph, the man looks only worried now. “Just wanted to check, uh—you sure you’re gonna be okay? ‘Cause to be honest, you don’t look too good.”

Peter smiles behind the torn mask, feeling a tiny bit of warmth spark in his chest at the man’s concern. It’s almost enough to overtake the cold that’s already seeped into him—Peter suppressing a shudder as the two war for dominance.

“Thanks, b-but, I’ll be okay.” 

“If you say so,” the guard says after a few moments, clearly not buying it. But he doesn’t say anything else and after a pause Peter turns away again, stumbling over to the doors and back outside. The chill of the night air seems to sink right into his bones, and this time Peter can’t stop the whole-body shiver that wracks him.

“Okay, you j-just gotta make it to Happy’s and then he’ll s-stitch you up and you’ll be f-fine,” he says to himself—taking a deep breath as he tries to shore up enough strength for the trip. “C’mon Spider-Man. Just this one l-last thing and then you can rest.”

With those words of self-encouragement Peter sends a web out and jumps over the edge, falling and falling only to shoot out another web and clumsily catch himself—ignoring the deep stabbing pain as his bodyweight pulls on the injured shoulder, feeling another burst of warmth flow down his back. 

Gritting his teeth, Peter takes aim for the Upper East Side, willing away the tendrils of darkness that keep pulling at his mind as he flies through the air, focusing on nothing else but getting to Happy’s place and continuing to talk to himself just to stay awake. 

“You got th-this, Spider-Man. Just get to Happy’s and th-then you can s-sleep,” he whispers just as Happy’s building comes into view. 

With no small amount of giddy relief he lands on the small balcony and wrenches open the sliding glass door. 

“S-s-see Happy? No d-dawdling,” he announces with a lazy smile, only to belatedly realize the place is still dark. Distantly his mind registers that he must have beat Happy here.

For a few moments Peter sways, before he hears a dripping sound. 

“Wha’s l-leakin’?” he asks the empty room. He glances down when he hears yet another drip, blinking dumbly when he sees it’s coming from him. 

His blood, landing onto what has to be super-expensive carpet. Shit! 

“Ohhh no,” Peter whispers, looking around in a panicked daze. Everything is starting to go blurry now and no—he can’t pass out here! Happy already barely tolerates him… what will he say if he comes back to find Peter ruined his floor?

“Think, Peter, think,”  he says to himself, before stumbling through the apartment toward the hallway—cursing when he trips over the edge of the coffee table, knocking over a plant on his way down. For a second he just breathes as he lies on the floor, eyes closing as he nearly gives in to the exhaustion… only to grit his teeth and stumble back onto his feet.

He leans heavily against the hallway wall for support as he staggers toward the bathroom. 

“M-made it,” he whispers as he crosses the threshold. He clutches at whatever is within reach as he hauls himself across the tiled floor, spots gathering in his vision. But by some miracle he eventually manages to collapse over the edge of the tub, curling up against the far corner of the porcelain. 

With a sigh of relief Peter finally allows his eyes to close and stay closed, telling himself that he’s safe now. After all, Happy is on his way, and he’ll handle everything for Peter, just like he does for Mr. Stark, right?

Right,  Peter thinks. 

It’s the last thought he has for a while.

_______________________________________________________________

“Come on! It’s a frickin’ yield sign!” Happy yells as he blares his horn at the car in front of him. He’s been stuck at this intersection for over seven minutes now, chipping away at what little patience he has left now that he’s back in Manhattan, yet still too far from Peter.

Because frankly, it’s a miracle the kid is even alive after a crash like that. The minutes after he’d first seen the scrawled note - during which he’d frantically searched the wreckage for a matching teenaged vigilante to go with the copious bloodstains strewn about the sand - will forever haunt Happy, especially knowing that Peter had been on the downed plane.

And while at first he’d been relieved to hear that Spider-Man was at the tower and looking for him, when he’d heard how out of it the kid sounded on the phone… well, let’s just say it had reminded him far too much of a different reckless superhero he knew, albeit back in the man’s less sober days. 

But where back then he’d been saving Tony from choking on his own vomit, tonight had raised red flags in Happy’s mind for other reasons. Because Peter wasn’t drunk or high, no—he was injured, badly enough that he was spacing out and slurring his words.

Happy can only hope it’s just a minor concussion, and not something worse. Because if anything happened to that kid, he would never forgive himself for it, and not only because Tony would have his head. Peter’s aunt was at home waiting for him, probably wondering where the hell he is at twelve-thirty in the morning on a Saturday night. 

He recalls then what he’d told the kid not a week earlier, when Peter had called while he’d been busy and distracted preparing for Moving Day: "Stay away from anything dangerous. I'm responsible for making sure you're responsible, okay?" 

Happy chews on the inside of his cheek, feeling another cry of worry-induced—and if he’s honest, guilt-induced—road rage rise up in his throat, only to force himself to swallow it back down. 

He’s not going to let himself lose it, not yet. Because Peter has to be okay. He has to be, because Happy doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself if he isn’t. 

It takes him twenty minutes before he arrives at his apartment building, not stopping to talk to his doorman as he quickly gets into the elevator. 

“Come on, come on…” Happy mumbles to himself as he impatiently punches at his floor’s button as the polished elevator doors slide shut in front of him. 

He all but runs out when the doors slide open on his floor—only to nearly crash into his next door neighbor Ms. Devine and her yappy shih-tzu, Mr. Fluffers.

“Sorry, Ellie,” Happy hastily apologizes, then when Mr. Fluffers growls at him, adds in a faux-casual voice, “Taking the dog for a late night walk?”

“Fluffy here runs on his own schedule,” the older woman responds kindly enough, only to narrow her eyes as if sniffing out a chance for gossip fodder. “And what has you hurrying home in such a rush after midnight?”

Making sure Spider-Man isn’t bleeding to death in my apartment. “Just checking that I didn’t leave my oven on.”

Ms. Devine continues to stare suspiciously for a few moments, before smiling tiredly and saying, “I’ve done that before.” 

“Haven’t we all,” Happy says with a polite smile as he walks around her, reaching in his pocket for his keys. “Have a good evening,” he adds rather dismissively, not looking back at what he is sure is a disapproving glare.

He waits until she turns the corner before racing down the rest of the hallway. Happy stops at his door, hands shaking as he fumbles to slide the key into the lock on the knob, scared of what he’ll find inside. He braces himself as he steps into the dark entryway, shutting the door behind him—careful to lock the deadbolt just in case Ms. Devine gets any ideas and decides to make an impromptu housecall. 

“Peter?” he calls out as he walks further in, feeling around the wall for the light switch, his hand meeting something wet. He finds the switch and the lights come on—only to gasp at the sight just mere feet away from his face. All along the light grey wall of his living room and turning down the hallway are long, broken, halting finger trails of red. With growing horror, Happy realizes it can only be one thing— blood.

Fear shoots through Happy as he turns away from the blood-smeared wall, finding a trail of red droplets along with a plant lying on its side on the floor—its dirt burrowing into the carpet and mixing with more blood stains, as though whoever knocked it over had landed in the mess and only barely managed to get back on their feet.

“Oh shit,” Happy breathes out as he follows the bloodied dirt trail, leading to the bathroom down the hall, finding the door open with the lights on. “Peter?” he frantically calls out.

Stepping a foot inside, it looks like something straight out of a horror movie. There’s smears of blood across the floor, as well as a handprint on the edge of the sink. Happy’s eyes scan over the scene before they settle on the blue and red— too much red —covered figure lying in the tub. 

“Oh my God,” Happy exclaims as he rushes forward and bends over the edge, hands hovering over Peter’s all-too-still form. Shit shit shit!!! 

“Kid? Peter?” Happy calls as he shakes the kid’s shoulder, gently at first and then more forcefully—closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in relief when the kid lets out a weak, pained groan.

“H’py? S’ you?” Peter mumbles, lifting his head, the goggles of his ridiculous homemade mask squinting in the lighting. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Happy says with no small amount of relief. Placing his hands under the kid’s armpits, he helps Peter’s slumping form straighten a little bit, alarm growing when he spots a pool of blood beneath the kid’s form, standing out against the pristine white tub floor. Happy reaches up and carefully peels off the torn remnants of the mask, revealing Peter’s pale and dazed face. His curls are slightly damp and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Unsure what to ask first, Happy blurts out, “What are you doing in the bathtub?”

Peter blinks slowly. “May says tomato sauce is… is hard t’ get out…” 

Happy brows pull together in confusion. “Tomato sauce? Kid—what are you talking about? You’re bleeding.”

Peter nods slowly, his chin dropping to his chest as he blinks with half-lidded eyes. “S’ what I said…” he mumbles, his eyes closing further. 

“Hey, hey, hey—no falling asleep on me. I have to make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything,” Happy tells him sternly. 

“But m’ tired,” Peter mumbles, words slurring together slightly. 

“I know, and you can sleep soon. Let’s just get you out of the tub and cleaned up first, okay?” 

“M’kay,” Peter mumbles, blinking sluggishly. 

Happy helps him out of the tub, practically carrying him with how wobbly the kid’s legs are, and sits him down on the closed toilet seat. “Do you promise to stay upright if I let you go?”

Peter gives the tiniest of nods, before slowly slumping sideways until his head and the ball of his shoulder hit the tiled wall. Happy waits until he feels confident Peter is safely propped before nodding back, patting him gently on the arm and leaving the bathroom. He practically runs into the kitchen, grabbing two pills of prescription strength ibuprofen and filling a glass of water heading back the way he came. 

“Here kid, take these,” he says, depositing the pills in Peter’s open palm and then holding the glass for him after he puts them in his mouth, helping the kid take a sip to get them down, then a few long gulps to quench his thirst. Satisfied, Happy sets down the glass and moves to the cabinet under the sink, pulling out his heavy-duty first aid kit. 

For as much as he had ignored the kid the past few months—and he’d be beating himself up about that for a good long while after this, no doubt—Happy had taken one aspect of his reluctant side gig of Spider-Man’s Keeper very seriously from the get-go, and that was preparing for a night just like this. One where Peter would call because he was injured and needed help getting patched up, and Happy would grumble but give him his address and tell him to swing over. 

As such, he had promptly taken his SI company credit card details and ordered an expensive, industrial-sized first aid kit to keep at home. He had hoped he wouldn’t ever have to use it, of course. But for now, he just finds he’s glad he had the foresight to plan for such a scenario—knowing that if he hadn’t, they’d be in a lot more trouble right now than they already are. 

“M’ really sorry, H’ppy,” Peter whispers as he watches Happy unclasp the kit and start pulling out supplies, carefully laying them out on the bathroom counter. Happy glances over at him, relieved to see the kid seems more coherent now that he’s both hydrated and medicated. “I didn’t... didn’t know where to go, and m-May would freak out—” 

“Kid, it's okay. I’m glad you’re here and not bleeding out in some alley,” Happy interjects as he grabs some face cloths from the small bathroom linen closet. Finally, with everything set up on the counter within easy reach, Happy turns back to Peter.. “Let’s get you out of that hoodie so I can see how bad it is.” 

Getting the top part of the kid’s homemade costume off of him is a bit of a struggle, but Happy takes it slow as Peter struggles to lift his arms above his head, parts of the fabric sticking to his skin with dried blood. Once it’s off, Happy’s stomach drops at the sight of the dark bruises blooming across the kid’s torso, as well as the cuts and deep puncture marks on his left shoulder. Just from being at the crash sight he knew it had been one hell of a fight, but seeing the consequences in the form of the actual wounds littering Peter’s young body brings it home in an entirely different way. 

“Happy?” Peter’s voice takes him out of his thoughts, looking up to see a puzzled look on the kid’s overly pale face. 

“Yeah,” Happy nods, blinking a few times and forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He turns the faucet on, rolling up his shirt sleeves and washing his hands and forearms thoroughly before running the face cloths under warm water, wringing them out. “This might sting a little,” he warns as he kneels down in front of Peter, bringing a cloth down to one of the sluggishly bleeding cuts, earning a pained groan.

After a few minutes, Happy’s managed to clean and bandage the cuts. The two puncture wounds on the kid’s back were shallow enough that they only needed to be cleaned and bandaged, but the two on his chest just below his clavicles would both need a couple of stitches. The only problem being that said kid is half-asleep and fading fast right in front of him. 

“I’m gonna have to stitch these chest wounds up, alright? Think you can hold on for a few more minutes?” Happy asks. 

Peter blinks heavily a few times, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Happy says as he reaches up for the first aid kit from the sink countertop, grabbing the suture packet inside. He wipes away the blood and disinfects the left-side wound first—being the more serious of the two—before taking out the pre-threaded needle from the package. “Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies with a shaky nod, cautiously eyeing the needle before closing his eyes as if bracing himself.

“Try not to squirm too much, kid,” Happy says before getting to work. To his surprise, besides a slight flinch with every pull of the thread Peter remains obediently still, and Happy wonders if he’s had to do this himself a time or two—feeling a pang of distress at the idea of the kid alone in his bathroom with nothing but his aunt’s sewing kit for supplies, biting down on a washcloth to muffle any noises of pain as he shakingly attends to all manner of jagged cuts and wounds.

He wants to think he’s just being dramatic imagining such a thing, but still he refuses to ask Peter—deciding not knowing is better than having his suspicions confirmed. As it is, the kid stays completely stoic even as Happy finishes stitching up the left wound and moves on to the right, being sure to be careful and thorough but still going as fast he can—knowing the kid is operating on his last reserves. 

“Alright, your torso is good to go,” he says as he finishes pressing a bandage over the second line of stitches, looking back up at Peter. “I need you to tell me the truth now. Do you have any other wounds that need seeing to? Because this isn’t the time for modesty if you do.”

Peter blinks slowly, before looking down at his legs. Happy watches in patient silence as the kid seems to take stock of himself—taking the chance to give a cursory once-over of the kid’s sweats. He personally doesn’t see any stains that seem to indicate more than shallow cuts, and is relieved when the kid looks back up only to shake his head.

“I think ‘m okay now,” the kid says, voice weak but tone honest enough that Happy believes him. 

“Alright,” Happy says simply, getting back to his feet—ignoring the way his knees crack and protest at the movement. “I’ll be right back. Try to drink more water if you can. No passing out while I’m gone.”

Peter doesn’t reply but also doesn’t slump any further, which Happy takes as acknowledgement enough before he swiftly moves back into the hallway, heading for his bedroom. He grabs one of his old Stillman’s Gym t-shirts and a pair of drawstring sweatpants that no longer fit him before going back to the bathroom—heartened to see the kid is still awake, albeit barely.

“Lift your arms,” he orders, watching as Peter does so as much as his injuries will allow before pulling the t-shirt over the kid’s head and getting his arms through the holes. “Think you can stand up and get those ruined pants off?” he asks next, Peter taking a deep breath before nodding determinedly. Happy can’t help but hover as he watches the kid stumble to his feet, using one arm to lean against the wall for support as with the other he fumbles with his waistband. Happy pointedly doesn’t watch, just leans over and stares at where the torn sweats are pooled at the kid’s feet as holds open the clean pair of sweatpants so Peter can step into them, lifting them up to the kid’s knees and letting go as soon as Peter has a good enough grip to pull them up the rest of the way himself.

Leaning back up, Happy does one last visual assessment to make sure he’s not missing any hidden injuries. Satisfied, he carefully wraps an arm around the kid’s uninjured lower back, leading him out the bathroom door and down the hallway.

It’s a testament to how absolutely exhausted Peter must be that he doesn’t ask any questions as Happy guides him into the guest bedroom, pulling back the covers and helping him settle in beneath the sheets.

“Th’ks, Hap,” Peter mumbles, eyes closing. He’s out almost immediately. Happy shakes his head as he watches the kid for a few more moments, making sure that his breaths are deep and even and pressing two fingers to the kid’s neck, double-checking his pulse. But everything seems to be fine, and Happy lets out a long sigh, giving himself just a few seconds to collect his thoughts as he tiredly rubs a hand over his face.

Tonight was close—way, way too close. And besides that sociopath Toomes, the blame for it rests squarely on exactly two people’s shoulders—neither of which are Peter. 

With that thought in mind, Happy gives the kid one last look before walking to the door. He closes it most of the way but leaves it just open enough so that he can peek in later, making a mental note to leave Peter a glass of water and some more pills for when he wakes up. 

He silently makes his way back into the living room—pointedly not looking at the dried blood streaked across the walls and staining the carpet—and pulls out his cellphone. 

He’s not too surprised to see he has a dozen missed calls from just the last hour, most of them from his team with the exception of one from Pepper and two from Tony. He debates calling Pepper back first—having no doubt she needs some answers about exactly how everything went to shit tonight so they can start getting ahead of the morning news cycle—but in the end selects Tony’s name. He finds himself mildly stunned when the man picks up on the first ring.

“Hap?”

“It’s me, boss.”

“Good. Listen, Fri’s been keeping me updated on the crash and apparently there’s evidence the kid was there but ran off, is that–”

“Don’t worry, I found him,” Happy says with a sigh. “He’s injured but he’ll survive.”

“Thank god,” Tony replies, and the sheer relief in his voice is enough that Happy is left surprised by him for the second time in under a minute. Tony wasn’t usually so transparently sincere when it came to those outside his inner circle, but his genuine concern for Peter couldn’t be more clear. Happy can’t help but wonder when that development happened, though—on second thought—he supposes he’s not all that shocked it did. The kid can be annoyingly endearing.

“That said, you’re gonna have to call May Parker and come up with a whopper of a good story,” Happy continues, “‘cause I sure as hell ain’t taking him back to Queens yet, what with the shape he’s in.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll figure out something.” A pause. “How bad is it? And where are you two? Does he need–”

“He went to the tower looking for me, after. One of the guards rang, and I told him to meet me at my place,” Happy explains. “Kid took some serious licks during the fight with Toomes but I managed to get him patched up. He’s sleeping now.”

“Good, that’s good.”

And now they’re at the part of the conversation that Happy would rather not deal with. But it’s no longer something he can afford to avoid, not after stitching up the passed out child down the hall. Because Peter is just a child—only  fifteen, for Christ’s sake. Happy swipes a hand over his face again, shaking his head—hating that he ever let himself forget that.

“Listen, bo—Tony,” he begins, “you know I’m not one to actually speak my mind too often, but this was… Look. I don’t know much but I do know that kid needs his suit back, and probably a whole hell of a lot more from you—from  both of us—from now on. Because this? This was an absolute shitshow as it was, and if he hadn’t been okay, I don’t know if—”

“You don’t have to tell me how bad I fucked up, Hap, I'm well aware,” Tony interjects, but there’s no anger in his tone, just weariness. “And just so we’re clear, this isn’t gonna happen again—I’ve already got a plan. As soon as the kid’s healed up he’s coming out to the compound. I’ve decided to make him a full team member—got a new nanosuit ready for him and everything.”

Happy frowns. He’s not sure making Peter an Avenger is any better for his safety than taking his suit away was. But then, if there’s one thing Happy tries to keep out of, it’s all the team drama and politics that Tony seems to constantly be dealing with. As long as the kid’s identity is safe, he supposes it might not be a bad idea—if Peter even wants it, that is.

“Just make sure you let him know it’s a choice and not a demand, boss.”

“Of course I’ll make sure he knows that,” Tony says irritably, but Happy knows him well enough to recognize that he’s only annoyed because he understands  exactly why Happy felt the need to say as much. After all, taking the kid to Germany, making Happy his main contact, keeping him out of the loop with the Toomes investigation, taking away the suit… Tony hadn’t given Peter much choice in anything up to now. 

Happy thinks about pressing the point, but decides it’s not worth it. Him and Tony might not be on the exact same page but they’re at least reading the same book, and that’ll have to do for now. In any case, Happy doesn’t intend to go anywhere, so if the time comes to set Tony straight again where the kid is concerned—he’ll be there then, too.

“Alright, well, if that’s everything for now I think I’m gonna try to catch a few winks while the kid is out,” Happy says. “He should be recovered enough to go home tomorrow, so you can tell his aunt to expect him then.”

“Got it, and yeah, I should hit the hay soon too,” Tony replies with a long sigh.  “Get myself ready for the PR storm that’s no doubt already brewing.”

Silence again, and Happy thinks about apologizing for what happened—knowing all too well that if he’d just listened to Peter’s friend when the kid popped up on his screen, this whole mess might have been mostly prevented. But he clenches his jaw instead. He has things to apologize for, certainly—but it’s not Tony who needs to hear them.

“Tell Peter I'll be in touch soon,” Tony continues when Happy doesn't respond.  “And Hap? Thank you.”

Happy pauses, uncertain exactly which thing in particular he's being thanked for. It could be for looking after the kid, or for saying his piece just now, or simply general gratitude for all the years he's faithfully had Tony’s back. He supposes it doesn't matter which one it is though, not really. The reply is the same. 

“No problem, boss.”

With a small smile, he hangs up. 

In a span of an hour, Happy’s managed to scrub every last drop of blood from the floors, walls and the bathroom. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to wake up and see the mess in the morning. He also threw the tattered remains of his suit in the washing machine and then into the dryer—one less thing for Peter to worry about. 

Tossing the bloody used paper towels in a plastic bag, Happy disposes of it in the kitchen trash can, leaving it hopefully out of sight and out of mind. 

If only the sight of an unconscious and injured Peter in his bathtub could be as easily forgotten.

Casting his guilt aside for now, he grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it up halfway, along with a few ibuprofen in a plastic Dixie cup. Turning off all the lights, Happy heads back down the hallway to the guest bedroom. 

He quietly pushes the door open with his foot and walks over to the bed, placing the water and pills on the nightstand within easy reach. Happy’s eyes fall on the kid, who is passed out, his mouth hanging open slightly. Another small smile finds its way to his face as an odd feeling spreads through his chest at the sight. Before he can talk himself out of it, Happy reaches a hand out, placing his palm on the kid’s forehead. He tells himself it's to check for signs of fever, but if it's also to physically reassure himself the kid is going to be okay, well, nobody’s gonna know anyway. 

“You’re gonna make my hair turn grey before its time, kid,” he whispers, receiving a soft sleep-sigh in return when he drops his hand. “And that’s only if Tony doesn’t manage it first.”

With a fond shake of his head, Happy makes his way out of the room, sparing one last glance at the sleeping teen before closing the door behind himself, leaving it open a crack once again. He heads to his room, choosing to leave his door open as well so he can hear should Peter wake up and need him. Going through his nightly bedtime ritual, his mind races with everything on his agenda for tomorrow—dealing with Damage Control’s rather displeased (to put it mildly) reaction to the plane crash and the almost-stolen tech, the inevitable PR nightmare, and finally, scheduling security detail for Pepper as she makes the rounds of meetings she'll undoubtedly have handling her end of all the former.

But right now, those things don’t seem as important. The important thing is the injured fifteen year old sleeping in his guest bedroom. The very one who he was supposed to be watching out for, and who he completely and utterly let down. 

As he lays down in bed and turns off his lamp, Happy vows to himself to be better from now on. Better at being there for Peter, even if that involves the kid talking his ears off with stories about school, his adventures patrolling Queens or all the annoying pop culture references he can't seem to stop making. From seeing everything Tony’s been through he knows the superhero business can be a lonely one, and Happy doesn’t want that for Peter. The kid should know he has more than just his teenage buddy in his corner. Which is why as soon as he can tomorrow, he is going to tell Peter exactly that. 

With that last thought in mind, Happy closes his eyes, soon drifting off. 

________________________________________________________________

It’s close to seven-thirty in the morning and Happy is sitting at the center island in the kitchen, all dressed and ready for the day, sipping from a mug of coffee. Despite it being Saturday, he still has a lot of work to do, starting with driving Peter home. 

He’d better get the kid up now so he has a chance to wake up a little and eat something before he goes home and faces the music with his aunt—Happy shooting off a quick text to Tony asking what cover story he gave Mrs. Parker so he can make sure their stories line up. And once he’s got that taken care of with the kid, Happy can apologize to him for the dismissiveness he’s shown over the past few months and explain how things are going to be different from now on. 

First though, he needs to get Peter’s suit out of the dryer. But when Happy goes to grab it, he finds the machine empty. Confused, he heads back down the hall, stopping outside the guest room and knocking softly. “Peter?” 

He’s met with silence on the other end. Happy’s brows pull together as worry pools in his gut. “Kid? I’m coming in.” 

But when he opens the door, he finds it to also be empty—the bed neatly made. Happy walks further into the room, seeing that the window is slightly ajar, the curtains gently blowing in the wind. 

“So much for that talk,” Happy mutters to himself with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He can only hope the kid doesn't blow his cover with his aunt. Should Peter reveal everything, he has no doubt his phone—being the only connection the kid has at the moment to reach Tony—will be blowing up with calls and texts from an understandably irate May Parker. While Happy is personally of the mind that she deserves to know the truth, he’d rather not deal with putting out that particular fire on top of everything else on his plate today.

He’s about to walk out of the room, but something on the nightstand catches his eye. Happy goes over and picks up a small folded piece of paper, finding neat handwriting inside. 

  Dear Happy, 

Thanks for helping me last night and letting me stay over. I would have let you know I was leaving but you were sleeping and after how late I made you stay up, I didn't want to bother you.

Also, don't be mad but I thought you should know that you snore REALLY loud. I'm no doctor but you might want to get that checked out.

Sincerely,

Peter Parker

 “That little shit,” Happy murmurs, reading over the part about his snoring again with no small amount of disgruntlement. Yet all the same he makes a mental note to call his doctor later in the day and make an appointment.

After all, he might have missed out for the time being on the big talk he had planned. But actually paying attention and taking Peter more seriously? Letting him know in every way he can that he’s listening, that the kid can trust that he’ll be there if he needs him?

Taking responsibility for all that begins right now.

[authoressskr]

october is it’s own magic

[october 27th]

[it’s still almost Halloween here! Winter goodies after I finish this series up!]

Characters: f!plus size reader, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Clint Barton, Happy Hogan, Pietro Maximoff, Nick Fury, mentions of Maria Hill and Phil Coulson

:: –> Warnings: Language, no Beta, basically this is me writing for myself

:: –> Notes: this will be a series. i will be posting it (hopefully*) every other day until Halloween. But nothing set in stone or scheduled. And thanks to @firefly-graphics for the use of the divider! **THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AS I FINISH THIS UP!**

:: –> Word Count: 1766

Soulmate AU. Bucky has a secret admirer. They keep leaving him all sorts of autumnal goodies with little notes. But who the hell is it?!

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post, translate, or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

[october 26th][nsfw previous chapter][minors dni]

After a well-deserved nap, you beg him into letting you put the little pumpkin charm on his dog tags, kissing him long and slow afterward. You only part because Bucky’s stomach rumbles loudly, making him roll his eyes at the noise.

“Let’s get some late lunch,” Bucky gives in to his stomach, lifting you from your spot on his lap reluctantly. You hum your agreement but he can tell your a little nervous about telling everyone it was you giving the gifts - even if they all already had guessed it, which when he said that you just rolled your eyes.

“I was careful and crafty. You might have suspected but you had no proof.”

“True. But I would’ve had it eventually, doll,” He states with confidence as he shoos you from his room ahead of himself, his smile widening as he hears you scoff.

“Suuuuuuure. It would have been my confession, but yeah babe,” Bucky snorts at your words as you entangle your fingers with his.

You’d endured some ribbing and more than a few questions from Tony about circumventing both Friday and his other security - to which you had stated that a magician never reveals her secrets. Tony had some choice words about you undermining his security but everyone could see the cogs circling rapidly in his head. A large order was put in for some Italian that night for dinner, Tony busting out the good wine and champagne to toast to the two of you on finding each other, Natasha and Wanda already slyly tapping vigorously on their phones throughout the day - only winking when Bucky and you inquired about what they were whispering about.

Steve was the most emotional about the two of you, Bucky teasing him about being like some old Nona, sobbing with a handkerchief over their children and grandchildren to which Steve had lovingly replied, “Fuck off, Barnes.”

So, when Bucky awoke this morning, wrapped around his soulmate, he almost didn’t believe it.

James Bucky Barnes was soul-bound.

His throat tightens as he blinks back tears, automatically tightening his arm under your breasts as he molds himself more against you. You had given him something he thought he could never have; a soulmate. A future he dreamed of long before you were born and he was broken.

He wonders for a few seconds if you’ll stop with the gifts now that you have him, feeling you shift ever so slightly in his grip. It’s a good almost two hours before you have to get up to get ready for work, so he settles himself back down as you twist in his arms, face upturned so the bridge of your nose almost brushes his jaw.

Bucky slips back pretty easily into sleep, your alarm jarring the both of you awake two hours later as you groan out a long ‘nooooooo.’

You stretch up against him like a cat, Bucky kneading all up and down your back as you do.

“Mornin’,” You whisper loudly, running your fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp as you try to blink yourself more awake.

“Mornin’, pretty girl,” Bucky answers with a quick peck to your lips, feeling your lips curl against his in a smile. Your fingers slide down to cup his face, smiling so blissfully at him.

“I’m so glad it was all real.”

Bucky pulls you impossibly closer, nudging his nose against yours once. “It’s all real. We’re real. We’re soul-bound. You’re mine, babydoll.” Each word is a promise. A seal. A vow.

“I love you, sarge.”

“Not half as much as I love you, pumpkin.” You laugh softly at his words.

“Didn’t realize it was a competition, you dork.”

“Just realize I’m winning whatever the competition is and we’ll be sound for the rest of our lives.”

“Sweet Jesus, I’m gonna need to have a long talk to Stevie about you. Coping methods he’s developed through the years. Maybe buy him a gift basket.” Bucky scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes as you shove your lower half away from him and put your chilly feet right up against his bare abs, making Bucky try to twist away from you as he laughs boisterously, taking hold of both your wrists in one of his hands.

Bucky uses his free hand to try to tickle you, you twisting a little away to avoid it as much as you can.

“Do not tickle me, Barnes! Do! Not! My chunky ass will start wheezing!” Bucky uses his free hand to push your feet away and nestle between your thighs, hovering over you with his curtain of hair falling around his face.

“Okay, Okay,” He chuckles, kissing all over your face in quick bursts. “Whatever my girl wants.”

The alarm goes off again, making you giggle. “I gotta get up and ready for work, Bucky.”

“But do you?” He whines, letting most of his weight drop onto you to keep you in bed, his face dropping to nuzzle against your throat.

“Unfortunately,” You hum, turning your head to kiss his forehead. “Hey, do you want your present now or how we’ve been doing it?” Bucky releases your wrists, giving them a gentle rub before linking both your fingers together.

“They’ll want to see,” Bucky murmurs with a soft nip to the juncture of your neck.

“We really gotta get out of bed, sweetheart,” You reply softly, squeezing his fingers entangled with yours. “And I need to find wherever you tossed my underwear to…” You lift your head a touch to look around at the floor as Bucky stays suspiciously silent. “Knew the culprit would stay silent…” Bucky’s soft chuckles sound deeper by your ear as he finally lifts his body off yours but kisses you once more deeply.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” He untangles his fingers from yours and scoots off as you pop up indignantly, cold foot shoved against his lower back as you gasp dramatically.

“You tore them?!”

“Ripped them right off, pumpkin,” Bucky smirks as he heads to the bathroom, tossing your mangled underwear towards the bed as he pushes the door closed behind him.

“You’re lucky these aren’t one of my favorites!”

Bucky clicks on the espresso machine as you start cracking eggs, half of everyone is already there and sporting knowing smiles as they all stand around the kitchen.

Bacon, sausage, and toast had already been made by the time you two joined the group, you snatching a piece of bacon to snack on as you continue to crack and fry eggs.

Bucky carefully pours the espresso and steamed milk into your awaiting cup with your caramel and rum flavorings already deposited in, moving on to his cup with rum, dark chocolate, and coconut flavorings.

“Soooo…” Pietro saunters into the kitchen, staring at your back with a lazy grin. “What did you bring your soulmate today?”

You glance over your shoulder and there is a dark purple box sitting on the counter with a thick black velvet ribbon and a very thin orange ribbon wrapped around it before turning back to the stovetop, clicking it off and plating the eggs onto the plates that Sam had gotten down for you.

“That’s for him to see, Pi.” You take the fork that Bucky offers you, the both of you leaning against the countertop by the fridge as you start eating your breakfast.

“So he was right?”

“He was correct in his guess, yeah,” You manage around a mouthful of eggs as Rhodey and Bruce come from the lab’s direction, Peter sliding from the elevator in a rush.

“I didn’t miss it, did I?!”

“No,” Comes a chorus from all around him, making his hesitant smile grow to blinding.

“Want anything to eat?” Natasha asks, gesturing to the large plate with her coffee cup as he shakes his head.

“I grabbed a breakfast sandwich at the deli. Thanks.” Clint comes from the gym, nodding at Tony’s animated descriptions of his security updates as Vision walks on Tony’s right with a tablet, nodding at Tony’s word with his vigor.

“Pep is in a meeting with Tokyo, so just go on ahead.” Tony takes the seat next to Wanda, making a face at her large mug of tea as he does so.

Steve takes Bucky’s plate and dumps it into the sink’s soapy water before pushing him towards the present. Steve takes Bucky’s spot, leaning down to hear your soft words about dealing with Bucky long-term that makes Bucky grin as he takes hold of the box.

Tugging lose the ribbons, there is the white cardstock, folded in half. He holds it up for you to see, watching as you shrug.

“Look, I pre-planned all of this, so all of the presents will have the cards. Even though you all know now.”

Bruce snorts, “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas. Better pun books.”

“Whoever gets me for Secret Santa is gonna be amazed. I am an amazing gift-giver!” You gesture with both your hands towards Bucky, careful of your coffee in hand, with your eyebrows raised. Chuckles sound all around the kitchen as Bucky flips open the cardstock.

“What do you get, handsome, when you drop a pumpkin? Squash ;) Love, me.”

He sits the paper to the side and pushes back the white tissue paper to reveal two pairs of boxers; one black and one orange. Both with jack-o’-lantern faces on the ass. A faint blush dusting your cheeks at his overexaggerated wink and smirk.

“I’m going to work before you hurt yourself winking that hard,” You roll your eyes playfully before letting him pull you in, kissing you soundly as you eagerly return his kiss. “I’ll see you at lunch, sweetheart.”

“Bye, babydoll,” Bucky breathes out before everyone else in the kitchen starts in.

“Bye, honey!” “Bye, sweetie!” “Bye, snookums!” “Bye, hot stuff!” Bucky glares at everyone and their two fucking cents as you peck his cheek, slipping from his arms and heading for the elevator.

“Bye, my dear little shits!” You yell back as the elevator door closes.

Sam and Pietro move closer as Bucky folds the boxers and tucks the cardstock into his back pocket, Tony, Wanda, and Natasha’s Cheshire grins widening.

“So, we have a proposition for you, Buck,” Steve begins, a shit-eating grin on his face as he crosses his big arms over his chest. “Ya see, Nat and Clint know her plans for Halloween. Tony’s party,” He clarifies further as Bucky tosses the box into the recycling bin, turning slowly back to face his best friend.

“And?”

“Well,” Clint laughs, “That’s where we want to turn the tables.”

[october 28th]

tagging: @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @galaxiesinmymind @mizzezm @ladywintersoldat​ @marvelatthisone​ @grumpyashhh​ @brieflyminiaturewhispers​ @spiders-will-harvest-my-organs​​​​

Note: The owners/makers/distributors have all the rights and etc. Don’t sue me. I’m poor enough and stressed as is ;)

[vintagemichelle91]

A Little Lesson in Healing: Chapter 2

Authors’ Note: Happy Sunday dear readers! Back with another little lesson on Rafael and Natalia’s healing process. We are so glad you guys enjoyed the first one, now here is another after Adam Conway and their trip back from Venice. Thank you so much for your amazing support!!! @rauliskafan and I hope you continue to enjoy!!!

**Italicized bits are from the past. 

           Freshly returned from Venice and jet-lag aside, Natalia somehow found the time to unpack and settle everything into place. Not wanting to put it off any longer, she sorted through some things that needed to be sent off to the dry cleaners. Maybe on his way to work, Rafael could drop the items off.

           Consumed with the task at hand, she still wasn’t ready to leave the enchanting city on the water behind. Because coming back meant that she had to face all the memories of those terrible days before Italy. The days where Adam Conway and Francis Devenue had reentered her life, had terrorized her… and her family.        

The violet gown remained in the same spot where she had left it. On the floor in the back of the closet. Natalia felt a shiver run up her spine when she laid eyes on the piece of purple fabric. In her heart, she knew she would never wear that dress again. Too many painful memories… not the sweet scenes of Venice but memories from her distant past, a troubled past she wished to forget and never think on again. She swore she would forget…

…but now she stood in the middle of the walk-in closet gripping the laundry basket tightly, turning her knuckles white.

How could she ever truly flee the images flickering through her mind?

She felt as if Devenue still had her in his power, his fingers digging deeply into her throat. Was the window closed? There was no air circulating around her, and she could feel her skin beginning to burn.

“Natalia?”

Struggling to find her voice, in desperate need of a fresh breath, Natalia let the basket fall to the floor, the voice of Adam knocking her down, of Devenue vowing to punish her for the other man’s crime flooding her mind.

“Stop it!” Natalia screamed as she bolted out of the bedroom, almost running right into Rafael.

“Natalia… wait!” Rafael called out, but she made a beeline for the front door. “Where are you going?”

“I have to get out of here,” she said weakly, grabbing a sweater and disappearing into the night without any further explanation, needing to escape the cage that seemed to reassemble, to trap her all over again.

           Rafael sighed against the door before entering. The outcome of the morning was not what he had expected. His name was cleared, and yet it was less than enough in the eyes of his new superiors at the DA’s office. A part of him thought it was ridiculous to head down there in his best three-piece suit and think they would automatically offer his old job again as if he had simply been away on some extended holiday.

           And yet, he hoped that he could right the ship and resume his life, to provide for his girls.

           Not to be. Not yet. Maybe never? Feeling like a complete failure, he wondered how he could face his girls now. Seemingly without a choice, Rafael let out an unsteady breath and opened the door before regret could get too tight a grip on him.

           “Atticus?” Natalia greeted as she descended the steps and flashed him a warm smile. “How did it go?”

           The eagerness in her voice set him slightly on edge. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint her. But…

“Not the news I wanted to hear.” Rafael loosened his tie with unnecessary force and walked straight over to the bar in need of a drink.

           “What did they say?” Natalia asked innocently, setting a few toys aside and watching her husband intently.

           “The powers that be are still in a flux, and they won’t lift the suspension anytime soon.” Rafael took a swig of the single malt scotch and immediately served himself another glass. All the while he avoided his wife’s concerned gaze.

           “Rafael, they’re probably just trying to sort some things out,” Natalia began to reason, but he shook his head.

           “There is nothing to sort out. I didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m the one still being held accountable for everyone else’s crimes!” Rafael’s voice grew louder, and he ran his hands through his hair as Natalia tried to quiet him.

           “Shhh… the girls are down for their nap.” Natalia moved closer and took the empty glass from his hand. “Atticus, even if you don’t back to Hogan Place, there will be other opportunities.”

           “No, my reputation is tarnished,” Rafael whispered harshly. “And the longer this lasts, the worse it gets.”

            “Atticus,” Natalia started, cupping his face in her small hands. “Everything will sort itself out. In the meanwhile, spend time with us.” She kissed his cheek sweetly. “I rather like having you around.”

           Unable to fight a strange feeling bubbling in his soul, Rafael glanced up and inched away from his wife. “I can’t… Natalia, I can’t do this. I can’t just sit here and stay idle forever.”

           “It’s not forever,” Natalia said. “Just a few more days in our ivory tower.”

           “It’s more like a cage,” he hissed. “And I don’t like feeling trapped.”

           “But, Atticus---”

           “Not now, Natalia!”

           She seemed taken aback as Rafael marched out of the townhouse, back into the chilly air without another word.

           He had no sense of direction as his feet pounded the pavement. The wind suddenly filling his lungs began to clear his head, and when he turned a corner, not realizing where he was, Natalia’s hurt face appeared in his mind’s eye. Along with the sharpest pang of guilt.

           He didn’t mean to snap at her like that. But this was his career, a career he had worked so hard for. Now it was slipping away through no fault of his own. Before the beauty that was Natalia entered his life, it was all he had to hang on to. And with it came a sense of purpose, a way of making wrongs right.

           It seemed the only way he could make a mark on a place called Earth, in a city named Manhattan.

           No longer true. Life was more than trials and motions and prepping witnesses for hours on end. His purpose was the beautiful schoolteacher, the family they had built. How could he ever lose sight of that?

           How could he say that he was sorry now?      

           Lacking an answer, he continued to trudge down the sidewalk when a storm broke out, and suddenly he was drenched. As the rain cascaded over his sorrowful form, Rafael ran across the street to a shop, ducking under the awning to avoid the deluge.

           Only when the door swung open did he realize it was a vintage record store. From which flew the strands of a familiar song. Hearing O soave fanciulla, he remembered the first night he took Natalia to the opera, the way her eyes lit up as she watched the stage and the way her pink silky dress felt against his skin in the moments when they skipped the second act.

Somehow even then, he understood that she was the missing piece to the puzzle that was his heart.

           How could he have walked away from her? A sudden waved of sadness washed over him as a cab sped off, the splash from a puddle staining his shoes. Even if the rest of this day existed as a testament to his other failings, he had to fix the one thing that mattered most lest the puzzle becomes a jumble of mismatched pieces once more, the organ only beating to keep him alive without the joy that was such a wonderful woman at his side, in that same heart.

           Running, growing wetter with each step, he finally found himself back before the townhouse for the second time that day.

           Ever so slowly, he entered.

           The warm, comforting scent of meatloaf filled his nose, and he saw the older girls setting the table for dinner.

           “Papi! You home just in time!” Violetta cried excitedly, rushing towards him as Rafael knelt to take her into his arms.

           “I missed you, muñequita,” Rafael said with a kiss to her cheek.

           “Me, too!” Violetta beamed. “But why you take an umbrella if you go out?”

           “Papi made a mistake,” he sheepishly admitted. “One he won’t make again.”

           Accepting the answer, Violetta returned to folding the napkins. And Rafael shuffled into the kitchen in search of his wife.

           “Mi hermosa flor?”

           Turning to face him, her face was soft, her lips a straight line. No doubt she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, and while he had no real excuse for his actions…

            “I’m so sorry for lashing out at you,” he began. “I was upset. Angry. But still, I never should have---”

           Shaking her head, the line of lips forming a smile, she circled her arms around his neck. “Nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You needed a moment to yourself. Now you’re home. Where you belong. That’s all that matters.” She kissed him sweetly and leaned her forehead against his.

           “It was still unfair of me to---”

           “What’s unfair is that you’re so soaked!” Natalia laughed, kissing him again.

           “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, seeking out her lips again. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

           “But there’s nothing to forgive,” Natalia assured him. And in that moment, Rafael felt his soul soothed, the bad feelings left out in the rain, and the perfect puzzle in place and the picture complete.

           Upon returning to the townhouse, Natalia noticed Rafael sitting on the steps, waiting. Knowing her husband, the man would have held vigil all night if necessary.

           “Are you alright?” Rafael asked, quickly approaching her the second their eyes locked. Suddenly feeling shy, she wrapped her sweater tighter around her body.

“Yes, I’m a little better,” she said.

           Rafael offered his hand to her, and she took his palm quickly. “You want to talk about it?”

           Natalia let out a shaky breath and sat beside him on the steps.

“I… when I saw the dress… it all came back,” she started. “It was just too much to take So I ran. And I… I’m so sorry.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and Rafael immediately held her to his chest.

           “Hey, shhh,” he whispered. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re back. You’re home. And that’s all that matters.”

He tenderly kissed the top of her head, and Natalia released a heavy sigh, happy to have him close, longing to leave the past behind…

…and knowing that her heart would always mend when it beat in time with his.

[ao3feed-buckybarnes]

The Solubility of Stardust

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2yvhQ4p

by RayShippouUchiha

“Never thought I’d come after another mouthy Terran,” Yondu grins, crooked teeth unabashedly bared and seemingly unconcerned, “but my boy … well he deserves the best. Figured I’d make up for threatenin’ to eat him all those years. Might stop him from being so pissy all the time.”

“That’s real sweet and all,” Toni cuts in sharply as understanding dawns on her, “but I doubt he’s my type. And it’s not the blue thing either, because that could be hot. It’s more along the lines of the whole I’m not leaving with you thing.”

“Well see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Yondu smirks and abruptly whistles. Toni’s startled for a split second by the arrow that darts towards her from where it had been sheathed at his waist. The fin on his head glows a threatening red.

Words: 5209, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of The Components of Construction

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Vision (Marvel), Jarvis (Iron Man movies), James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Stark Robots (Marvel), Peter Quill, Yondu Udonta, Rocket Raccoon, Gamora (Marvel), Drax the Destroyer, Groot (Marvel), Mantis (Marvel), Clint Barton, Guardians of the Galaxy Team, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Avengers Team, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanova, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson (Marvel)

Relationships: Peter Quill/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Guardians of the Galaxy Team, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Stark Robots, Tony Stark & Vision

Additional Tags: Female Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Not Canon Compliant, Not Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 Compliant, Angst, hurt comfort, Extremis, Betrayal, space, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Feels, Tony-centric, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Angst, Snark, Banter, Pop Culture, references, Team as Family, Yondu Lives, Kidnapping, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Bride-napping, Not A Fix-It, Not Wanda Friendly, Overprotective Jarvis, Protective Rhodey, Protective Vision, Peter is smitten, Tony is unimpressed, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Handwaving some issues aside, Just Roll With It

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2yvhQ4p

[my-ao3feed-trial]

when is a bomb not a bomb?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2O0wYhR

by sappho (krithi)

a bomb is not a bomb when it's a misfire.

Words: 3936, Chapters: 4/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Multi

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Harley Keener, Aldrich Killian, Eric Savin, Maya Hansen, Ellen Brandt, The Mandarin (Marvel), Trevor Slattery, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), DUM-E, U - Character, Iron Man Armor, Bambi Arbogast

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Fix-It, Iron Man 3 Fix-It, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 3, Post-Avengers (2012), Not Canon Compliant, obviously, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, And extensive therapy, BAMF Pepper Potts, Extremis, Extremis Pepper Potts, i feel like so many of the mcu's issues would be solved if they just made everything gayer, so this is Iron Man 3 but gayer, Explosions, Human Experimentation, it's consensual though, Science, Mad Science, Tony Stark needs a nap, Pepper Potts Needs a Hug, author needs a hug, Natasha Does Not Necessarily Need A Hug but Deserves One For Being Brilliant, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, I Adore Natasha If You Couldn't Tell, sappho can't tag pass it on, Not Beta Read, as usual, the major character death is actually major bad guy death, so don't worry about it, Mild Language, Sappho Has A Potty Mouth, Canon-Typical Violence

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2O0wYhR

[hoganandmaryjo]

Avignon & Cassis, France

As soon as we crossed the border between Switzerland and France, the landscape changed. As we rode the train from Geneva to Lyon, and then on to Avignon, we left the left the coziness of the grey mountains and entered a landscape made of limestone, marked by rough vertical bluffs and large, lazy rivers that meandered through the hills. Each hill had a small castle or old stone structure topping it, all surrounded by vegetation that grew sparser and more mediterranean as we reached the south of France. The city of Avignon, where we were meeting Evelyn and Bill, Hogan’s mom and stepdad, has a continuous history of human settlement beginning in neolithic times roughly 4,000 years ago and including Phoenicians, Romans, Visigoths and Ostrogoths, the Franks, many kingdoms, and was home to nine Popes beginning in the 14th century. After our long train journey, made even longer due to the rail strike in France, we arrived and walked around the edge of the medieval city to meet Evelyn and Bill in a spacious flat near a main entrance to the old city.

It was a surprise treat to meet Evelyn and Bill on this trip. We had discussed the possibility before leaving California, but it wasn’t until a little over a month before that they had confirmed and bought their tickets. They flew into France early, spending some time vacationing together before meeting us for a little less than a week. Bill was celebrating the beginning of his retirement after a lifetime of hard work, and this was one of the longest vacations they had both taken in a while. Evelyn had been following our trip closely, and it was special to share some of it together.

Southern France is a cycling mecca, so we knew we wanted to ride while we were there. Evelyn rented us four nice road bikes for our days in Avignon, and we headed out on two separate days to explore the countryside. Hogan led the group through the narrow cobblestone streets of the old town and beyond, along paved paths beside vineyards, dirt trails next to the Rhone River, and busier streets connecting cities. We tested the bikes out on a shorter ride through the outskirts of Avignon, passing old castles and ancient ruins on the way, and after some trial and error learned the best way to navigate back through the medieval city center to our apartment. There are many destinations around Avignon that are tailor-made for a day of riding, but the total distances of these rides, at around 45 kilometers, were a little more than what Evelyn and Bill were comfortable doing. We all discussed the options after our first ride but in the end it was clear we had to try for the longer distance. How often, after all, do you find yourself in the south of France in beautiful weather on road bikes?

We rode to the Pont du Gard, a monumental Roman aqueduct that spans an emerald green river about 20 kilometers outside of Avignon. It’s a stunning piece of engineering and was part of a system built in the first century AD that moved water more than 50 kilometers from a natural spring to the Roman colony of Nimes. We parked our bikes and walked across the span, admiring the workmanship and knowledge required to build something so lasting (it was in use for 500 years before it failed). It is hard to comprehend how long it had loomed over the river valley and the feat of engineering needed to create it nearly two millennia ago. The area is a destination for locals and tourists alike, who spend the day laying in the sun on the banks of the river and swimming in the cool water. After hours of riding in the heat that sounded wonderful, but we had to keep moving to make it back to Avignon before dark. We picnicked under the shade of a tree overlooking the scene - a very temporary piece of greenery compared to the Pont du Gard. We rode back along the same route, whisked quickly along by a welcome tailwind the whole way. Evelyn and Bill rose to the occasion, completing the day without any problems. We celebrated our ride back at the apartment, especially Bill who took a very well deserved nap while we made dinner.

From the 1300s to 1790, Avignon was home to nine Popes. We were surprised to learn that the Vatican wasn’t always where the leader of the Catholic Church lived. Avignon has restored the former Papal Palace, and we were excited to go see it on our last morning in the city. Hogan and MaryJo went solo while Evelyn and Bill got ready to go to our next stop in France. We got a free interactive tablet and audioguide tour with our tickets, and it was incredibly well done, guiding us through the buildings and showing what various rooms looked like back in the 1300s using augmented reality. The palace was huge, made of grey stone, and despite the heat outside, it was cool as we wandered through the vast rooms. The compound had been expanded upon many times over the years, and is very complicated. We saw large halls, chapels with tall vaulted ceilings, the treasury room with hidden spaces underground where they kept the important documents and money, and the Pope’s own chamber. The former kitchen was particularly impressive - it was a simple room that extended two stories upwards to a small opening at the top, making the whole structure a chimney. All the food was cooked in the center around an enormous fire, and the smoke went out the top of the ceiling. While the whole palace wasn’t particularly religious feeling, it was powerful to see frescos on the walls and intact original decorations on wooden ceilings dating back to the early 1300s. Like everything we have seen that is that old, it is very hard to imagine how it continues to exist for centuries.

After our tour of the Papal Palace we piled into Evelyn and Bills rental car and hit the road towards the Mediterranean and our next destination: the small port town of Cassis. Hogan dusted off his driving skills and guided the vehicle through beautiful countryside and down narrow lanes to the rocky coast towards Cassis, which is located on a steep hillside that rises quickly from the water. Our flat was minutes from the port, and after filling the small space with our bags we strolled along the waterfront past the fishing boats and on to the beach. The town was busy with tourists buying ice cream and boarding boats to visit the famous calanques (which are like small fjords) in the national park surrounding it. It is a beautiful place, almost entirely made out of a local tan-colored limestone that if you look closely, is marked with the pattern of ancient sea shells. We settled into a sidewalk cafe overlooking the water to plan our next steps.

We had spent a good amount of time in Avignon going restaurants only to discover they were closed. Determined not to repeat this experience, MaryJo booked a table for four at a newer seafood restaurant for the evening called Angelina. The four of us strolled in for our reservation prepared to order the bouillabaisse, the famous Provencal fish stew originating from this area. The waiter looked at us quizzically, since it turns out you need to order the stew 24 hours in advance so they can get freshly caught fish. Things are done differently in France. We had a delicious and fun meal nonetheless - salted whole fish with Cassis white wine - seated in an open courtyard underneath a potted olive tree. Two nights later we returned, having ordered the bouillabaisse well in advance this time. It was a feast of many different kinds of fish, which they showed us before and after cooking for our approval. None of us could finish our portions.

Like almost everywhere in France, Cassis is known for its wine. In particular, the Cassis AOC produces 75-80 percent dry white wine, which is unique when compared to the area around it, known mostly for rose. (AOC stands for appellation d'origine contrôlée, or protected designation of origin, which certifies wines, cheeses and other French products are from where they say they’re from and upheld to a certain standard specific to that area.) It is also unique in that there are only 12 operating Cassis domains, or wineries, under this AOC. Though every bar and restaurant in the small town was serving Cassis wines, we wanted to go try some at the wineries ourselves and booked a tour with a winery right on the coast, Clos Sainte Magdeleine. Before even arriving at the winery, we learned that wine tasting there is much different than the enormous tourism industry of California’s Napa and Sonoma regions. Other than the one place we were able to book a tour, the domains held weird hours, and despite our attempts to call, make online reservations, or even just show up at the front gate, they simply aren’t open for tasting in the same way we are used to. Nonetheless, the tour at Clos Sainte Magdeleine was fantastic, with a knowledgeable guide and a beautiful setting. We learned that although the AOC highly regulates the production, irrigation, taste, etc. of the wine, they do not regulate what vessel the wine is stored in before bottling. This domain used a combination of stainless steel and, surprisingly, egg-shaped concrete vats, not the oak barrels we expected from France. In a small-world experience, we also learned that their biggest U.S. importer, Kermit Lynch, is based just down the street from where Bill and Evelyn live in Berkeley. We all took some bottles to go, happy that our determination to visit the domain paid off.

Our trip to Cassis wouldn’t be complete with our own visit to the calanques and on our last day we got up early, put on our swimsuits, and got into kayaks. We launched from a small rocky cove just south of Cassis in five boats: Hogan and MaryJo in one, Evelyn and Bill in another, and our guide and his brother each in their own individual kayaks. As we left the enclosed water and rounded a rocky outcropping into the Mediterranean, the water stayed smooth and glassy as far as we could see. We asked the guide if this was normal and he laughed - we had gotten lucky - a very clear and calm morning, perfect for kayaking. Our half-day trip took us north past Cassis and into three different calanques that each were subtly different. Though you can walk to each calanque and look out at the sea, we felt good to be on the water instead, taking in the limestone cliffs rising from the water close up. Even more interesting was the view we had peering down the cliffs, through the clear water to the sandy sea floor. The limestone is sharp and rough, and naturally forms long ledges that slope into the water, the stone slowly breaking into large rectangular boulders over time. Between bouts of paddling, we rested in the clear waters and watched small fish swim through the seagrass below. Later, we stopped and swam (even though the water was pretty cold) at a secluded beach where the even taller cliffs attracted rock climbers, who hung on to ropes around us. The waters got busier as the day went on, mostly with larger motor boats filled with other tourists, and we paddled back to shore tired but feeling rejuvenated after the day out at sea.

Our short visit to France was well worth it, but we were excited as we boarded an early train to Barcelona the next morning. It had been a busy five days with Evelyn and Bill, and we were happy to be returning to our own schedule as we began the final few weeks of this long trip. We would see family again soon enough. After visiting nine countries, Spain would be our last stop.

[secretlyreadingatmidnight]

Chapters: 3/4 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Quill/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Guardians of the Galaxy Team, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Stark Robots, Tony Stark & Vision Characters: Tony Stark, Vision (Marvel), Jarvis (Iron Man movies), James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Stark Robots (Marvel), Peter Quill, Yondu Udonta, Rocket Raccoon, Gamora (Marvel), Drax the Destroyer, Groot (Marvel), Mantis (Marvel), Clint Barton, Guardians of the Galaxy Team, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Avengers Team, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanova, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson (Marvel) Additional Tags: Female Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Not Canon Compliant, Not Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 Compliant, Angst, hurt comfort, Extremis, Betrayal, space, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Feels, Tony-centric, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Angst, Snark, Banter, Pop Culture, references, Team as Family, Yondu Lives, Kidnapping, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Bride-napping, Not A Fix-It, Not Wanda Friendly, Overprotective Jarvis, Protective Rhodey, Protective Vision, Peter is smitten, Tony is unimpressed, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Handwaving some issues aside, Just Roll With It, Comic Book Science Series: Part 6 of The Components of Construction Summary:

“Never thought I’d come after another mouthy Terran,” Yondu grins, crooked teeth unabashedly bared and seemingly unconcerned, “but my boy … well he deserves the best. Figured I’d make up for threatenin’ to eat him all those years. Might stop him from being so pissy all the time.”

“That’s real sweet and all,” Toni cuts in sharply as understanding dawns on her, “but I doubt he’s my type. And it’s not the blue thing either, because that could be hot. It’s more along the lines of the whole I’m not leaving with you thing.”

“Well see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Yondu smirks and abruptly whistles. Toni’s startled for a split second by the arrow that darts towards her from where it had been sheathed at his waist. The fin on his head glows a threatening red.

[ao3feed-peppermom]

by blondsak, Marvelous_Writer

Peter knows he’s hurt badly enough that he can’t just slap a bunch of band-aids on his injuries, and especially the giant, still-oozing puncture wounds on his back and along his shoulders from the tips of Toomes’ wings. But it’s not like he can just stumble into an emergency room and ask to get stitched up. So where to go instead?

May would have a heart attack if she saw him right now, not to mention immediately figure out his secret. Ned would also definitely freak out, probably waking his parents in the process. Mr. Stark was an option, but Peter wasn’t about to bother him, not after how the man had made it crystal clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Peter ever again.

So no hospital, no May, no Ned, and no Mr. Stark just left… Happy.

Or: following his final fight with the Vulture, Peter is left grievously injured and in need of some serious help. Cue Happy to the rescue.

Words: 6893, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Iron Man (Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Happy Hogan, Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Protective Happy Hogan, Worried Happy Hogan, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Happy Hogan Deserves a Nap, just 7k of Happy Hogan appreciation tbh, Blood and Injury, Light Angst, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Peter Parker Whump