#Repulsor Tech

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"EARTH'S MIGHTIEST HEROES ARE NO MORE... TONY STARK IS THE LAST MAN ALIVE."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on sketch art of Tony Stark of Earth-9997, the reported "last man alive" and unaffected by Plague X, from "Earth X" Sketchbook Vol. 1 [a one-shot issue]. February, 1999. Marvel Comics. Artwork by Alex Ross.

PIC #2: Bonus sketch art of the Iron Avengers, robots designed by Tony himself with Iron Man technology, pre-programmed with the personalities and characteristics of all the dead Avengers. Arrwork/design by Alex Ross.

MINI-BIO: "Earth's Mightiest Heroes are no more. Most are dead. A few fled to the other side of the world. Only one remains.

Tony Stark is the last man alive. That is, he is untouched by whatever it is that has mutated his world. He is the man in the armored bubble -- the man who has expanded his armor around himself so far that he lives in utter isolation and utter sterilization.

In a way, though, Tony Stark has also lost his humanity. For humanity has a social existence. And he is alone and too proud to admit that in holding on to his natural form, he has become a stranger to the world."

-- X-51, a.k.a., "MACHINE MAN" (the new Watcher of Earth-9997), story/script by Jim Krueger

Source: https://thedorkreview.blogspot.com/2013/11/alex-ross-earth-x-sketchbook.html.

[motorcity-thoughts]

mc breakdown thing: chuck’s slingshot (also reference pics :3)

(all screenshots r from ep 4 - texasify it!) these are mostly just my theories on how it works so idk

lower left: obviously, distance. the symbols on top could be options to choose on what to exactly measure, like kilometers or yards.

lower right: im not sure?? judging by the colors, maybe they’re options on how much force is being put into the shot?

actually maybe not. umm what if they adjust the distance of the actual frame?? and the other parts near chucks lower arm stores the ammo?? idk lol

upper left: a map. to track targets.

lower right: code?? to make sure its working correctly?? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

more screenshots for u artists :3

[swtechspecs]

Fromm Crime Family Tower Droid

Source: The Essential Guide to Droids (Del Rey, 1999)

[shard010]

Imagine if Tony was a shit mentor and father figure until *after* Spider-Man Homecoming. (And his treatment of Peter can change if you changed his confrontations with Tony, both the creepy corning Peter at his apartment to recruit and blackmail him, and the fairy scene because even though he wasn't a hero long he still did it a good portion of the year *BEFORE* Tony showed up. Peter is *Competent*), acknowledged that *BOTH* Teams Tony and Cap weren't in the right just because they had a few good points. (Badass Aunt May mention. She confronts him and can be petty when she wants to be.)

Like, the sheer character growth and drama potential. Expanding upon their growth in relationship from "just this random kid" to "emotionally adopted family". The second chance Tony got to improve himself and be better. (And ex-vengers would be like "what did you do to Tony?!? If they ever show up afterward for a brief after story.) Expositionary could be separate story altogether OR can be connected or Peter's reflecting and contemplating on his and Tony's past together.

Danny can bring Billy into the fold for magical mayhem, (and witches weren't always exclusively women in history.) Billy would largely stick around his city for the most part though.

Green Lanterns obviously won't be shown too much, being space cops and all. And both Peter and Danny are not only on an assignment and the Lantern rings don't like to switch universes. Need to stick in the "general vicinity" of their charging stuff. (Potential for more drama if you wanna make an arc out of it, give each of the 3 a separate plot to work through. You can read DP X DC Lantern headcannons for agnst if you want to go dark. This can be another destabilizing point depending on the state of the Lanterns and the universe, as well as if you just want to stay longer and have them explore more, Like A Side Quest!

Since it's MCU Peter there won't be "fate and destiny" bs he has to contend with. He's got enough problems with his current power set and Parker Luck, thankyouverymuch.

DP x DC x Marvel

This is an idea I had yesterday, but I didn't want it to be swept away from the Dannypocalypse, so let's gooooo!

The Lazarus Pits are just more than just leaked ectoplasm into the material world, they're unstable rifts that could potentially tear apart the whole Infinite Realms! (The Fenton Portal doesn't count because technology keeps it stable.)

While one or two could be somehow manageable, the League of Assassins found a way to recreate them and the new model was definitely more unstable than the old ones...

SO this clearly needed an intervention.

Luckily, Clockwork has two apprentices heroes that own them some favors...

This is how Danny Fenton/Phantom, Peter Parker/Spider-man and the ghost of one (1) Tony Stark (as an emotional support ghost) found themselves being loaned to the DC Universe to close every single one of these Pits.

(Danny became CW's unofficial apprentice after they helped him with TUE.)

(@stealingyourbones @ashoutinthedarkness @the-sprog if y'all are interested... >:3c)

(Spoilers from Spider-man: No Way Home under the cut.)

(Peter is the one from the MCU after No Way Home, but he gets his happy ending thanks to CW who fixed Strange's Spell and so MJ and Ned still remember him... in exchange for a future favor, AKA being transferred to the DCU to fix things.)

[ericshoney]

Forgotten Birthday ~ Avengers

Summary: Being the youngest Avenger usually means you get looked over for missions, but you never thought they'd forget your birthday.

Warnings: Possible swearing, angst, tears, fluff at end.

Reader's age: 17

Being the youngest Avenger had its perks. I could outrun a speeding car, manipulate energy fields, and occasionally, snag the last slice of pizza before Tony could. But it also meant being underestimated, sidelined on the ‘easier’ missions, and treated with a gentle, almost patronising, kind of care. I knew they meant well. They were protective, especially Steve, who saw me as the kid sister he never had. But sometimes, I just wanted to be seen as an equal. A capable, contributing member of the team.

And today, on my birthday, I just wanted them to remember that I wasn't just a little kid anymore.

The day had started like any other. I woke up, expecting at least a mumbled "Happy Birthday" from whoever was awake. Nothing. I figured they were busy, caught up in some impending doom I hadn't been briefed on. I made my own breakfast, a sad, solitary affair with a bowl of cereal and a heavy dose of disappointment.

The day dragged on. Peter came over, rambling on about something that happened in school - the one place I think I was happy I never attended, Tony deciding I could learn at the tower - listened patiently as Sam complained about the lack of decent bird-watching spots in New York, and somehow sat through a lecture from Bruce talking about gamma radiation.

I paced the common room, trying to look busy, hoping someone would notice the date on their phone, the faint decorations I'd secretly put up last night (easily dismissed as late Halloween ornaments, I supposed). The clock ticked with maddening precision, each second a hammer blow to my already fragile hopes.

Finally, around late afternoon, Natasha walked in, her face etched with a familiar weariness. “Rough day,” she sighed, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch.

“You could say that,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She glanced at me, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Something up?”

This was my chance. “Just… a little forgotten,” I said, carefully avoiding eye contact.

She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up. “Wait here.”

Hope flickered within me, a tiny, fragile flame. Maybe she remembered. Maybe she was going to orchestrate a surprise party, a cake with seventeen candles, a chorus of off-key "Happy Birthdays."

But no, she returned empty handed, “Tony needs help re-calibrating the repulsors. He’s about to blow up the lab. You're closest. Go.”

My heart sank. The flicker of hope extinguished. I forced a smile. “Sure thing, Nat.”

The lab was, indeed, a controlled chaos. Tony was covered in grease, his usually impeccable hair a mess. He barked orders at a bewildered-looking Peter, who was struggling to hold a wrench twice his size.

“Ah, Y/n! Perfect timing,” Tony exclaimed, without even looking at me. “Hold this. Tight. And don't breathe on it.”

I spent the next hour balancing carefully on a stool, holding a delicate piece of Stark tech, trying not to sneeze, and feeling utterly invisible.

Finally, Tony declared the repulsors “minimally functional,” and Peter, bless his heart, after being dismissed as a “potential explosion hazard,” whispered a quick, “Happy birthday, Y/n!” before scurrying off.

It was enough to make me want to cry.

I mumbled a thank you and slumped back into the common room, defeated. I couldn't even muster the energy to be angry. Just… sad.

The others slowly trickled back in, one by one. Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Bruce, all looking exhausted and preoccupied. Each of them passed me with a cursory nod, completely oblivious.

I decided to retreat to my room, to wallow in self-pity and watch bad reality TV. As I reached the door, Steve’s voice stopped me.

“Y/n, could you…” he trailed off, looking slightly sheepish. "You look a little down. Everything okay?"

"Fine," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

He frowned. "You sure? You know you can talk to me."

I wanted to scream, to tell him that no, everything was not fine, that it was my birthday, and they had all completely forgotten. But the words caught in my throat, choked by disappointment.

"Yeah, Steve. I'm fine. Just tired." I turned and walked into my room, closing the door softly behind me. I leaned against it, tears welling in my eyes.

A moment later, there was a knock. I ignored it.

The door opened.

It wasn’t Steve. It was Bucky, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Heard you weren’t having such a great day.”

I glared at him, tears threatening to spill over. “What do you want, Bucky?”

He shuffled his feet. “Just… figured you might want this.” He held out a small, rectangular box.

I took it, my fingers trembling. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a silver bracelet. It was simple, elegant, and perfectly me.

"Natasha picked it out," Bucky said, avoiding my gaze. "Said it was…appropriate."

My breath hitched. “But… they forgot.”

Bucky shook his head. “We didn’t forget, kid. We just… we wanted it to be a surprise.”

He stepped aside, and I saw them. Standing in the hallway, all of them, looking sheepish and slightly apologetic. Tony held a half-eaten cake (chocolate, my favourite). Natasha had a stack of presents wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Steve was grinning, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. Sam was holding a boombox, which he promptly turned on, blasting a slightly off-key version of "Happy Birthday."

“Surprise!” they all yelled, their voices blending together in a cacophony of sound.

Tears streamed down my face, but this time, they were tears of relief and joy. I laughed, a shaky, emotional sound.

"You guys…" I choked out, unable to find the right words.

"We may not always show it, Y/n," Steve said, stepping forward and giving me a hug, "but you're an important part of this team. And you're important to us."

Tony clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Cake time! And presents! And then, maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you drive one of my cars.”

The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter, cake, terrible presents (thanks, Tony), and surprisingly heartfelt speeches. I learned that Natasha had been planning the surprise for weeks and that Bucky had spent hours agonising over the perfect gift.

As I sat there, surrounded by my dysfunctional, chaotic, but ultimately loving family, I realised that being the youngest Avenger wasn’t so bad after all. They might forget things sometimes, they might underestimate me, but they would always, eventually, come through. And sometimes, that's all that really matters. Especially on a birthday.

Tags:

@riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl @parkjihoonsnudes @rajah-oliver

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[witchhkitty222]

Arrest me, Captain - oneshot

Steve Rogers x reader

summary: Amid the fierce Civil War clash between Avengers teams, your confrontation with Steve Rogers — your boyfriend and current enemy — ignites with raw sexual tension and suppressed emotions. Despite being on opposite sides, passion and desire explode into an intense, steamy encounter that challenges their divide. A love tested by war, with heavy consequences, "nice catch" - "nice ass"

warnings: explicit content / sex scenes (oral, penetration, dominance, spanking, breeding kink), strong language and adult themes, intense emotional conflict and sexual tension between rivals, consensual power dynamics in a romantic relationship, war and violence backdrop (Marvel Civil War context)

wordcount: 1.3k

The sun scorched the tarmac at Leipzig-Halle airport, the heat rising off the concrete matching the fire in your chest.

Two lines of Avengers stood face to face. All former teammates. Now… opponents. The Civil War had officially come to a head.

You stood just behind Tony, spine straight, heart hammering. The red tint of your HUD reflected in your eyes, but you didn’t need tech to feel the crackling energy building.

Your powers — your ability to control minds and move objects with sheer thought — pulsed like a heartbeat just beneath your skin.

Across from you… Steve Rogers. Your boyfriend. Your current enemy.

He looked ridiculous in that damn blue uniform. Ridiculous and infuriating and hot as fuck.

He hadn’t said a word to you since this mission started — since the teams were drawn, and you made your choice.

You chose Tony. You chose accountability. And Steve… didn’t.

But none of that stopped the way your stomach flipped when his eyes finally locked on yours. Wide shoulders, jaw clenched, mouth tight like he wanted to say something but wouldn’t. He looked at you like he hated that he still wanted you.

Good. You hated that you still wanted him too.

"You sure about this?" Rhodey murmured beside you, nodding toward Cap’s team.

You didn't take your eyes off Steve. “He’s the one who should be sure.”

And just like that, the fight exploded. Wings, webs, shields, repulsors — it was chaos in motion.

You ducked a flying drone and launched yourself forward, twisting through smoke and yelling. You reached out with your powers, lifting a cargo container into the air like it weighed nothing.

And with a flick of your fingers — you hurled it straight at him.

Steve turned just in time, shield raised, catching the full weight of the container like the super soldier he was.

Show-off.

You smirked and called across the battlefield, loud and cocky: “Nice catch.”

Without missing a beat, he shouted back — “Nice ass.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha shouted over comms.

"Not the time for flirting!" Sam groaned as he dodged a blast from Vision.

“You two gonna make out or actually fight?” Clint chimed in, somewhere off to the left.

You just grinned, your eyes never leaving Steve. “Can’t help it if your team leader’s obsessed with me.”

Steve was already moving, bulldozing through the chaos like a man possessed. You could feel the shift in him — the way his focus snapped entirely to you. Not Bucky. Not the mission.

You.

“Careful, Rogers,” you called, backing toward the terminal, lips curling. “You look like you're about to forget which side you’re on.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he growled. “You have.”

You laughed — light, dangerous. “Maybe I’m just tired of following orders.”

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You turned, sprinting toward the edge of the runway, weaving through debris with deadly precision. You could’ve flown — could’ve used your powers to keep distance — but you wanted him close.

You wanted him desperate.

Let him chase you. Let him burn.

You felt his footsteps pounding behind you. Felt the storm building in his chest, the mix of anger and longing twisting in the air like lightning.

You rounded a corner and slipped into a dim service hallway just outside the terminal — the chaos of the fight muffled behind you.

And then — BAM. A rough hand caught your wrist. The other pinned you against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Your back hit the concrete. His chest hit yours.

Steve Rogers was in front of you, breathing hard, shield still gripped in one hand, eyes wild.

“You don’t get to do this,” he snapped, voice low and shaking.

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do what, babe?”

“Act like you don’t know exactly what the fuck you’re doing.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Then arrest me, Captain.”

His jaw flexed.

Your thighs clenched.

And everything went silent except your heartbeats slamming in unison.

--------------------------

His grip tightened on your wrist, not enough to hurt — just enough to remind you who you were dealing with. The shield clattered to the floor, forgotten, as his other hand braced against the wall beside your head.

His face was inches from yours.

“I should put you in cuffs,” he growled.

Your lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You always did want to see me in restraints.”

His breath caught. Just for a second. That was all it took.

You leaned in, the tip of your nose brushing his. “Do it then. Arrest me, Captain.”

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m literally on Team Iron Man. I’m the enemy. What’re you gonna do about it?” Your voice dropped, sultry and wicked. “Spank me for treason?”

His mouth crashed into yours like a detonation. No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat. Hunger. Months of tension exploding all at once.

You moaned into him, arms flying up around his neck as he shoved you harder into the wall, tongue claiming your mouth like he had every right to — like he owned you, even now, even on the wrong goddamn side of a war.

“You think I give a shit what team you’re on?” he panted between kisses, hips pressing between your thighs. “You’re mine.”

You gasped as he gripped your ass, yanking you up so your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Then show me,” you dared. “Prove it.”

His mouth found your throat, teeth grazing that sweet spot just under your ear. “You’ve been brattier than usual, sweetheart.”

“You love it.”

He slammed you into the wall again and grinned darkly. “Unfortunately for you… I do.”

His hand slid up under your suit, fingers trailing over your stomach, down between your legs. When he felt how wetyou were, he froze.

“Jesus Christ.” He looked up at you with fire in his eyes. “You came out here like this?”

You smirked, breath shaky. “It’s the suit. Tight as hell. Gets me worked up.”

He growled low in his throat. “You wore it knowing I’d see you.”

“Maybe I wanted a reaction.”

“Well, you’ve got it now.”

In one swift motion, he spun and carried you across the corridor, kicking open the nearest service door. It slammed shut behind you — a dark utility room, dusty and unused.

Steve tossed you down on a crate, yanking the zipper of your suit down roughly. His fingers were already undoing his own belt, his cock already hard, leaking.

You licked your lips. “You gonna fuck the defiance out of me, Captain?”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His voice was low. Deadly serious. “I’m gonna fuck you until you remember who you belong to.”

You didn’t even have time to gasp — his mouth was on yours again, hands tugging your suit down, exposing your chest. His kisses were bruising, desperate, full of everything he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he hissed, biting your lip. “Always mouthing off. Always testing me.”

“‘Cause you like it,” you whispered, gasping when he shoved two fingers inside you, no warning.

Your back arched. “Steve—”

“You know better than to go against me,” he growled into your neck, curling his fingers. “But you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

You nodded, panting. “Yes—fuck, yes, I did—”

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you whimpered, “wanted you so bad—”

“Even while you were fighting me?” He slipped his fingers out and rubbed them over your clit, slow and punishing. “Even when you turned your back on me?”

“Yes—god, Steve—”

“Then take it,” he snapped.

And then he was inside you — deep — all at once, no hesitation, splitting you open in a way that made your eyes roll back.

You cried out, nails digging into his back as he set a brutal rhythm. Each thrust drove the air from your lungs, each growl in your ear made your walls clamp tighter around him.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. “No matter what team you’re on. No matter how much you fight me. You fucking belong to me.”

“Yes—yes—I’m yours—” you gasped.

He fucked you harder, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises.

“Always so fucking cocky,” he panted. “You need to be reminded who you obey.”

He slapped your ass, hard, and you moaned, head falling back. “You like this, don’t you? You like being punished.”

“Only when it’s by you,” you said, grinning breathlessly.

He leaned in, lips to your ear. “I’m gonna fill you up.”

Your stomach clenched. “Yeah?”

“Gonna come inside you,” he growled, hand between your thighs again, rubbing your clit as he pounded into you. “Wanna watch it drip out. Wanna make you mine again.”

You sobbed — so close, so overwhelmed, body on fire.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you want it.”

“I want it—want your cum—want you to fill me up—”

“You want me to breed you, baby?” he whispered, dark and possessive. “Fill you so deep you can’t even think about Tony’s side again?”

You screamed — body locking up, pleasure ripping through you in waves. He felt your walls clench and snapped, burying himself to the hilt and groaning as he emptied into you, thick and hot.

Your bodies trembled against each other, breathless, tangled in sweat and lust and the aftermath of war.

Silence settled.

Except your heartbeat.

Except his.

Still synced. Still one.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Guess you really don’t want me defecting.”

He gave you a cocky, exhausted grin. “Not when you look that good in my cum.”

------------------------------

The only sound in the dim utility room was your breath catching and Steve’s heartbeat hammering against your chest.

You were still wrapped around him, your bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and cum, his hands clutching your waist like he couldn’t let go. Like if he did, you’d vanish.

And maybe you would.

Maybe he would.

“…Fuck,” you whispered, voice hoarse and small. “That was…”

“Insane?” he offered, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Insane. Desperate. So fucking good.”

Steve laughed softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was still buried inside you, still hard, still holding you like the world outside that door didn’t exist. But it did. And you both knew what was waiting when you stepped back out there.

War.

Sides.

Choices.

You shifted your hips, letting him slip out of you gently, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. His cum dripped slowly from your core, and you felt him glance down at the sight — pupils dilating again — but he didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

You sat up, legs trembling, running a hand through your messy hair. “You’re really gonna go back out there and fight me after that?”

Steve’s expression changed.

Pain.

Real, raw pain.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to be against you.”

You swallowed, heart tightening.

“Then why are we?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you like it shattered him. “Because I have to protect Bucky. And you have to protect Tony. And neither of us are willing to let the other one get hurt.”

Silence.

Just the two of you breathing, just the truth hanging in the air like a weight on both your shoulders.

“You think I don’t lie awake every night wondering if we’ll survive this?” he murmured. “Wondering if I’ll lose you over something we can’t control?”

You stared at him.

Steve.

The man who held your heart. The man who just wrecked your body. The man who would never stop fighting for what he believed in, even if it meant tearing you both apart.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “Don’t say ‘lose me.’ I’m right here.”

“For now,” he said bitterly. “But when this is over… what then?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I do know this—”

You crawled back into his lap, cupping his face with shaking fingers.

“I’m still yours,” you whispered. “Even when I’m fighting you. Even when I’m pissing you off. Even when I’m wearing the wrong colors or standing next to Tony instead of you—I’m still yours.”

Steve’s eyes glistened.

He leaned into your touch like he was starving for it.

“I love you,” he said. “Even when I want to scream at you. Even when you drive me out of my goddamn mind.”

You smiled. It was small, soft, but it lit up his whole world.

“I love you too,” you said, pressing your forehead to his. “More than this fight. More than any side.”

He kissed you again — softer now. No teeth, no bruising, just mouths moving in a slow rhythm, lips memorizing the shape of love in a warzone.

When you finally pulled back, your voice was gentle.

“We should go.”

He nodded reluctantly.

But when you stood, he reached down and tucked himself back in, then pulled your suit gently over your thighs, fingers lingering.

“Next time you try to fight me,” he said, his voice low and teasing again, “you better be ready to deal with the consequences.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “Is that a promise, Captain?”

He stepped up behind you, slid his arms around your waist, and whispered into your ear:

“No. That’s a threat.”

You shivered.

He kissed your cheek once more — then opened the door.

And just like that, the war resumed.

But now?

You were walking back into it with his cum still inside you.

And that? That made you feel untouchable.

[uhhhj13iguess]

prepare yourself

avenger!peter parker x avenger! reader

summary: peter loses you on a mission, and it's worse than he could've imagined

wc: 3.5k

cw: body gore! mdni! i wanted to experiment with writing body horror, so it gets very graphic when detailing injuries/mutilation. there's no description of the actual events happening, just a lot of wording around the body designed to hopefully make you feel a bit squeamish!

if anyone wants, i'd love to do a part two with the medical-side juxtaposition as well, and give a sweet lil peter ending to turn this angst into fluff i fucking did and forgot to tag it! here it is!

masterlist and taglist!

peter shot one last web towards the wall, concluding his mural of men webbed along the hallway outside the security room. he gave himself a proud smile, admiring his work.

"you're telling me these guys are hydra? for a decades-long terrorist organization, they sure don't know how to train their front line very well."

you snickered beside him, sliding another bloodied man along the tiled floor to where you'd piled the others.

"i don't get why tony has us on security watch, this is light work. why even have me train under nat if i can't use my skills in practice? i wanna get my hands dirty, i wanna know what they aren't telling us." you kicked the foot of the man below you, turning to peter and giving him a frown. he offered you a knowing smile in return.

"yeah, i get what you mean. come on, lets just get in there and disable the security measures. then we can go back to the jet and try that chocolate i bought at the sokovian 7-eleven."

you grinned at him, heart swelling at the thought of some alone time with peter before the rest of the team was done.

"alright. you head in, i'm going to do one more sweep of the first floor while you're in there."

peter felt his senses go off for a second, a weird feeling in his chest. "i don't know, maybe we shouldn't split up."

you gave him a look. "what, you don't think i can handle myself? come on, you know we've cleared this floor already. plus, you've got like, three buttons to hit and we're home free, it won't be that long."

"yeah, but—"

"but nothing, spidey. come on, work your tech magic and meet me out here."

he let out a breath, shaking off whatever bad feeling was sitting in his stomach. "yeah, you're probably right. one sec,"

peter ducked into the security room, a dissonant beep ringing through the air as he held the keycard to the lock. the light flashed green and let him in. he laughed, "thanks bad guys!"

he heard you chuckle from down the hall as he made his way into the room, a smile on his face. he would never admit it to you, but he liked that you two were handed the short stick on missions. you were in and out, leaving time alone before the rest of the team came back, and he relished those moments more than any chance of glory.

he reached the switchboard, glancing at the monitors as he saw the rest of the team on the cameras making their rounds on various floors. "god we're so badass."

(y/n) was right: it was a matter of exactly three commands before he had the systems disabled. he heard tony through his comms,

"thanks, kid. now, do us all a favor and get yourself to the jet. this shouldn't take long."

peter smiled to himself, a feeling of accomplishment coursing through him. did he press literally there buttons? yes. but he pressed three buttons as an avenger. man, that would never grow old.

he heard commotion from down the hall and called out towards you. "alright (y/n), we've had our fun. stop messing with them and let's fuck up some chocolate, shall we?"

he was met with silence, his chest feeling tight again. "(y/n)?"

he took one step out of the room before his head was met with a metal fist, the CRACK of his own skull ringing through his ears before he lost consciousness.

tony jerked back as his hand repulsor let out a blast, sending the guy on steve's back to the ground with a heavy thud.

"mr. stark, both peter and (y/n) have gone unconscious." FRIDAY echoed through the suit. his blood ran cold.

"what?"

"both of them are in the building and their vitals are stable, however, they've both just lost consciousness within one minute of each other."

he felt his breathing pick up, his heartbeat commanding in his chest. he looked to steve and nat. "you guys good?"

nat threw a nasty headbutt, sending the agent in front of her collapsing to the ground. "go, tony."

he flew out without another word.

"FRIDAY, get me their most recent location."

"head to the security room, sir. take a left now."

tony reached the room in a matter of a minute, missiles out and on guard. he announced himself before storming the room, standing down once met with peter on the ground, no one else around him. he rushed out of his suit and to his side, shaking the boy relentlessly.

"kid, come on. wake up."

a few more desperate shakes and peter was gasping for air, fists flying and ready to fight.

"woah woah woah, hey— you're alright, you're okay. same sides, just me."

peter stalled his movements, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to grab ahold of his surroundings. he sat up slowly before immediately regretting it. man, did his head hurt.

"kid, you alright? you're bleeding. take of the mask, i need to see it." tony reached towards him, only to be swatted at.

"mr. stark, someone'll see!"

"kid, the floor is clear. i'm pretty sure you're responsible for that. jesus, how hard did you hit your head?" he pressed the spider emblem on peter's chest, revealing his blood-stained curls.

"pete, what the hell happened? for fucks sake, we need to get you out of here. FRIDAY, admister morphine."

"what? no, mr. stark don't— OW! mr. stark, what the hell??"

"kid, you're going to thank me in ten minutes. where's (y/n)?"

peter felt his mouth go dry. "w-what do you mean 'where's (y/n)''?"

tony's face fell. "shit. okay kid, let's get you to the jet. sam?" he called into his comms.

"yeah tony, what's up?"

"get down here, i need you to get eyes on (y/n)."

peter shot up instantly, his mask climbing back up his face. "no, mr. stark, really. i'm fine. i can feel it healing already, honest. i have to find (y/n)."

"we aren't having a discussion on this."

"you're right, we're not."

peter took off, flying down the hallway and out of sight before tony could even get back in his suit.

"karen, show me heat signatures."

the team searched for a while, leaving no one in their way untouched. the fight to find you was growing tireless, and the more time that passed without a trace of you led to more panic spreading amongst the team — peter worst of all.

he'd grown feral in his search for you, bloodying any body he encountered.

"kid, we should head back to the jet. we need to gameplan this." tony rang through his suit.

"no. mr stark, her tracker is still in the compound and she's close enough to read vitals on."

"pete, we—"

"she's in pain, mr. stark. i'm not leaving this building without her."

peter continued to search for hours, detailing every single room in the building. he spent the most time in the room your tracker had led him to, but helpless as he couldn't find you anywhere nearby. he had screamed your name for the majority of the search, his throat raw as his own healing couldn't even keep up with his efforts. he felt the blood warm on the back of his throat, accompanying the warm flood of tears down his cheeks.

"this is all my fault." he let out a horse whimper, bouncing his head up against the brick wall in front of him.

he felt hopeless. he felt like the world was crashing around him, a wretched feeling in his chest ripping him apart from the inside. this was all his fault, he didn't—

the bricks against his forehead ground against one another before shifting backwards, causing peter to jerk his head up. he stared wide eyed to a portion of the wall having fallen back as though on hinges, a long hallway now standing in front of him.

"a secret door. you're kidding." he breathed to himself. "mr. stark?"

"yeah, kid?" tony rang through.

"i found a door hidden in the wall right where (y/n)'s location is. i'm going in."

"i'll be there in 30 seconds."

peter sighed to himself before stepping his foot over the threshold and down the concrete-lined hallway.

"this would've been way cooler 5 hours ago."

tony landed in the room, eyes on the hole in the wall as he made his way down. he spotted peter ahead of him, not quite to the room at the other end.

"mr. stark, i have (y/n)'s heat signature in the room about twenty yards ahead. she's alive, but her vital signs are unstable. i'll prepare the jet for medical intervention." FRIDAY alerted.

tony gave a deep sigh as he approached peter, a hand falling on his chest and preventing him from walking any further.

"mr. stark, what are you— we have to go, sir!"

"kid, just wait a second. i need you to be prepared for anything, okay? they had (y/n) for almost five hours, and you know what we came here for originally. just, prepare yourself."

peter scowled, a look of of uncertainty overtaking his features as though he was at war with himself. he met tony's gaze. "this is all my fault."

"hey, pete. you know that's not true. you're lucky we aren't finding you in this room too."

peter took a shakey inhale, turning back to the opening of the cold room before them. "i'll feel lucky when i have her out of here."

and with that, peter ran. he navigated the room, desperately following your heat signature as tony focused on the agents and scientists in the room. he hoped peter was entirely focused on getting to you because he sure as hell wasn't following the "no-kill" rule this time around.

with everyone else taken care of, peter ran to the other end of the room where karen had traced you. and while tony had done his best, there was nothing peter could've done to prepare himself for what he saw.

you were on the concrete floor, clothes ripped and shivering from the frigid temperature of the room. your eyes were closed as you flinched from the noises around you, but it wasn't your demeanor that stopped him dead in his tracks.

there you laid, at complete mercy of those around you. thick tubes entered your body through your arms and chest, a viscous, black sludge coursing into you. it leaked out around the edges, your torn skin wet from not only the liquid but from the amount of blood lost as well.

the tubes protruded two from each forearm and one on either side of your collarbones, each breath stretching the skin around them and causing more tearing on your chest. peter could see the outline of the tubing in your arms, your skin bulging as the tubes fished themselves up to your biceps. the sight made him lightheaded, beginning to panic as he fought to believe what his eyes were showing him.

the scent of everything brought tears to his eyes, a sickly sweet smell in the air as your body fought hard to reject everything that was happening. it was foul, a putrid scent similar to that of rotten fruit flooding his nose and raising bile in his throat. had it been from the stench alone, peter would've thought you'd been dead for hours.

he took a step closer to you and there was a crunch underneath his right foot. he lifted it and looked down, confusion coating his features. and then, there was nothing but terror.

he leaned down to pick up a tooth, skimming the area to notice another few molars scattered around your limp body. his eyes met with the bloodied pair of pillars on the ground, giving new and nightmarish reasoning to your blood-soaked mouth. peter looked back up to you and felt his knees give out.

he crawled closer, not daring to touch you to make anything worse. now, he got a better look at your face, and he almost wished he hadn't.

blood pooled down your chin and dripped onto your chest, notably from the missing teeth and whatever else they'd done to you that peter couldn't see evidence of. you let out a cough, but it came out more as a gag, blood filling your mouth at a higher rate than your body could handle. you choked, new waves of red liquid spilling from your lips and splattering across your torso as you fought to breathe.

somehow it wasn't your mouth that made peter feel faint, however. it was your eyes.

your eyelids had been crudely sewn shut, crusted over and bloody. your soft lids were torn to shreds, the flesh ripped raw — no doubt from unconscious efforts to open your eyes.

you let out a ragged breath. "hello? w-who's there?"

peter watched your eyes move underneath the lids frantically, the movement only proving his assumption correct as he watched the skin pull against the thread, flesh tearing apart at the struggle.

"hey hey hey, stop moving, please. calm down, it's just me. it's peter,"

he couldn't help the quiver in his voice, his body betraying him as tears flooded down his cheeks under the mask.

"i'm going to get you out of here, okay? i-i just need you to trust me, okay? i'm gonna get you out of here, i promise."

you nodded, the minimal movement enough to elicit a sharp cry from deep in your throat. peter winced, placing a hand on your head and running his fingers through your hair, careful not to get too close to your eyes.

"pete, i-i, please, i don't..."

karen's voice pierced through his mask, drowing out your pleas. "peter, we're losing her. you need to get her to the jet immediately."

he couldn't breathe. his vision was going dark around the edges, panic overtaking him as his eyes racked over your body, desperately hoping this was all just a horrible nightmare. at some point, the rest of the team had joined in on the fight, the sounds of gunshots and violence fading to the background as a ringing pierced his ears. he didn't know what to do, he didn't—

"p-peter? are you still there?" your trembling voice drew him out of his haze. he watched again as you fought to open your eyes, face controting in pain as you pulled against the thread. he grabbed your hand in his, giving it the faintest squeeze.

"hey, hey i'm sorry, i'm right here. please stop moving your eyes, try to relax them for me. i'm so sorry, (y/n), i'm so sorry." the last part a whisper.

you turned your head towards his voice, tears slipping through the loops in the thread. it rewet the blood crusted around your eyes, the tears running down your cheeks a pinkish-red.

"they told me i saw too much."

peter felt his stomach turn at your words, intrusive thoughts of them holding you down and stitching your eyes shut plaguing his mind.

"i'm so sorry, i...

"peter, you need to act quickly. start by removing the tubes from her arms." karen rang through his suit again.

he shook off the thought, bringing his attention back to you. "i need to get these tubes out, okay?"

you choked out an "okay", more blood spilling from your lips as you spoke.

"don't talk, okay? i'm going to get you out of here. just stay awake for me, please. i'm just gonna..." he placed his hand on one of the tubes, nauseous at their size in his hand.

he held tight, the movement alone from his grasp being enough to earn a whine from you, incoherent pleas to stop escaping your lips.

he felt panic bubble in his throat again. "karen, please. how do i do this, i... i don't... i don't know what i'm doing."

"it doesn't seem as though the tubes in her arms are intertwined with anything. the best course of action may be to pull as quickly as possible,"

peter could taste the bile in the back of his mouth.

"the tubing is about two feet long, peter. you're going to want to pull quickly and pull a lot further out than you think."

he took a deep breath, summoning all the willpower he had left. "okay, i'm going to take these out, alright? i need you to brave for me, this isn't going to feel great."

you choked out another "okay" as peter tightened his grasp on the tubing. he gave himself a mental countdown, closing his eyes and pulling as hard and as quickly as he could.

the sounds that filled his ears made him wish to never hear again. you let out a blood-curdling scream that forced an echo through the concrete room, the rasp in your voice telling peter you'd been crying out like this for hours. it broke his heart to hear you in so much pain, but somehow your deafening anguish wasn't the worst part.

he could hear as the tubing left your body. the squelching noises of the plastic running through your flesh burned to his memory, one he knew would haunt him at night. you let out another roar as the tubing left your body and peter opened his eyes, immediately looking at the now-open wound in your forearm. he no longer had to worry about the noises haunting him.

the tubing had left a gaping hole in your arm, a dark red mixture of various liquids splattering out of you. he was quick to throw a web on it, stopping the flow for now. he looked at you, tears blurring his vision.

"i'm sorry," he cried, out, nearly choking on his own sobs. "i need to keep going, i'm so sorry."

he grabbed the next one, wasting no time pulling as hard as he could. this time, however, he made the mistake of keeping his eyes open. he watched as the tubing moved from under your skin as though a snake was slithering inside of you, the bulging in your arms pulsing and raising as peter moved. the tubing hit the ground with a thud, and the next thing you could hear was peter dry heaving.

he continued with the other arm, apologies on his lips as though he was pleading for his own life. they were drowned out by your screams, the rasp in your tone growing stronger each time as you lost your ability to speak. you could feel your throat ripping apart as you cried, even more blood running down to your stomach than before. you heard the sounds of peter's webshooters and felt two more cool sensations on your left arm.

"okay, we just need to get the ones in your chest, okay? we're almost done, (y/n), i promise,"

he took a step back to examine the two tubes left before a voice cut through his ears.

"peter, you can't pull on these two, they're too close to her heart. you're going to need to sever them and leave them in so they can be taken out surgically."

the thought brought another gag to his throat. he nodded silently, reaching down to the boot on your left foot where he knew you always had a back up dagger hidden. he let out a sigh of relief as he felt the metal against his masked fingers, pulling out the knife and bringing it towards your chest. he noticed as your ragged breathing picked up.

"peter? w-what are you doing with that? what's going on, please?"

"it's okay. i have to leave these ones in here, okay? i'm going to cut them and then we're going to go," he held a firm hand on one of the tubes.

"you're going to feel some pressure, okay? you're going to feel me cutting it, and it's going—"

"—peter, she's losing consciousness. you need to make the cuts now."

"okay! okay, i— fuck, okay."

peter began to saw at the tubing, the back-and-forth movement ripping at the skin around the edges. it pulled, blood and dark liquid splashing out on your bare clavicle and turning everything he saw red. he braced for your scream, but felt even more panicked when he didn't hear one.

"hey hey, hey please no. please, stay with me, please i'm trying. just please stay alive."

he finished off the final tube, again using his webbing to seal the open ends and prevent anything else from going in (or coming out). he wrapped his arms around your limp frame, beginning to lift you. his whole body shook, the weight of the situation sitting on him like nothing he'd ever felt before. he let out a cry that hurt his chest, using everything he had left to get back to his feet.

he had you. he had you, and everything was going to be fine, he just needed to—

"kid, grab on!" tony yelled as he flew past, signaling peter to web himself onto his suit. he did so, holding you tight in his arms as tony flew them outside and towards the jet.

they landed outside, his arms shaking violently as he rushed you over to bruce who was waiting at the glider entrance.

"please, help her. please, you have to help her."

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N-Pool drives Deadpool and Wolverine…

Wade: how does this car never run out of gas?

Y/N: it runs on repulsor tech

Logan: Stark?

Y/N: yeah

Wade: I couldn’t see the license plate. What did it say?

Y/N: Car-Pool

Logan: Car-Pool? Is this a-?!

The radio flickers on and Car-Pool speaks…

Car-Pool: oh yeah. Just keep sliding all inside me

Logan: f—k! Another you, Wade!

[netflixbingger]

Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 11

Characters:Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 3,827 words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, Heavy Sexual Implications Previous Chapter Masterlist

You hadn’t realized how much quieter the base felt without him.

Cassian had only been gone a few days—routine recon, nothing high-risk—but it still left a noticeable gap. Like some thread in your day-to-day had gone slack.

You kept yourself busy. Maintenance duty. Late meals with Kiira. Updating supply logs that no one but you cared about. Two weeks out of medbay and you were nearly healed, the bruising fading from angry purples to dull yellows. Still tender, but manageable. You didn’t limp anymore. You didn’t wince when you stretched too far.

You were okay.

Mostly.

But you’d started doing this thing—checking the mission board a little too often, keeping your comm volume just a little louder than necessary. Not because you were worried, exactly. Just… aware. Hyperaware.

Cassian meant something now. He always had, but this was different. He was your person in a way you hadn’t fully let yourself feel before. And now that you’d had him—his hands, his mouth, his quiet stubborn care—you didn’t want to go back to the before.

So when the incoming alert pinged across your datapad at 23:48—Inbound arrival. C. Andor. ETA: 00:12—Your heart kicked once, hard.

The hangar was fairly quiet at midnight.

Only the overheads buzzed, casting pale gold light across the empty bays. A couple techs dozed in swivel chairs, a transport pilot sipped caf near the exit, but otherwise it was just you. Standing awkwardly with your arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot, pretending you weren’t excited.

The ship touched down with a soft whirr of repulsors, landing gear hissing as it met the ground.

You swallowed.

The ramp lowered slowly—and then there he was.

Cassian.

Dust on his boots, pack slung over one shoulder, curls mussed, brows slightly furrowed like he was still halfway in the field. His eyes scanned the bay and caught on you almost instantly.

He stilled.

You didn’t run to him. That wasn’t your style. But your face broke into a grin you didn’t even try to fight.

“Hey,” you called softly.

Cassian’s whole expression softened—just slightly, just enough for you to catch it. He made his way down the ramp without a word, boots echoing on the metal. And when he reached you, he didn’t say anything right away.

He just looked at you.

“You’re here,” he said, voice low.

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Got the alert. Figured I’d greet you.”

His gaze moved across your face, pausing at your still-faint bruise, at the faded scar by your ribs now visible beneath your tank. Then his eyes flicked back up. “You look better.”

“I am better.”

“You sure?”

“I’m cleared for active duty tomorrow,” you said. “Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

You shook your head and nudged his shoulder lightly, warmth rising in your chest. “Back to yours? Or do you wanna grab some food?”

Cassian didn’t answer. Just looked at you again—this quiet, almost amazed look, like he couldn’t believe you were up all night waiting for him.

Then he reached out, brushed a bit of grease from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I missed you.”

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic.

But it hit you like a punch to the ribs.

You smiled again, almost afraid to admit it. Then you tilted your head toward the corridor. “Come on, Captain. I’ll walk you home.”

And you did. Side by side. No words. Just a quiet, steady closeness. Like maybe, slowly, the two of you were starting to figure out what it meant to have each other.

The walk back to his quarters was quiet.

Not awkward. Just… settled. Like the two of you had done this a hundred times before, even though it was still new enough to feel special.

You didn’t hold hands, but your arms brushed now and then, and neither of you pulled away. It was late enough that the corridors were mostly empty, the base winding down around you. Somewhere down the hall, a light flickered. You heard distant laughter from a barrack two levels up.

But here—between the two of you—it was just the sound of footsteps, soft and steady.

When you reached his door, Cassian paused, hand hovering over the panel. He glanced at you. “You coming in?”

You gave a small shrug. “If you’re offering.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t say anything else. Just keyed in the code.

His room was the same as always—dim, quiet, stripped-down in that very-Cassian way. But it felt warmer with him in it. More lived in. A half-folded shirt was draped across the back of a chair. A caf mug sat on the shelf by his bed. One of your hair ties rested beside it.

You stepped in and pulled off your jacket, draping it over the chair. Cassian set his pack on the floor and toed off his boots with a quiet grunt.

Then he moved to you.

Not rushed. Not hesitant.

He just stepped close and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his face into the crook of your neck like he’d been needing to all week.

You let yourself melt into him, arms winding around his back.

He held you like that for a while—solid, warm, quiet. Like grounding himself to you after being gone. You could feel his breath at your neck, the way his hands splayed over your back like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched your face, still unreadable, but softer now. Cassian leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, a little more certain than the last time. It wasn’t rushed. Just something he needed. And you gave in to it without hesitation, fingers sliding up the back of his neck, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

His voice was low against your mouth. “You missed me.”

You made a noncommittal noise.

He pulled back slightly, smirking. “You missed me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You were gone for two days.”

“And you still missed me.”

He kissed you again. You didn’t try to stop smiling this time.

“Shut up,” you whispered, tugging him toward the bed.

He followed easily, and the next hour was a blur of tangled limbs, half-laughed curses, and slow, lingering touches. You ended up on top of the blankets, breathless and half-undressed, your legs tangled with his as you laid side by side. His hand rested low on your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles on your skin.

The room had gone quiet again, but it felt different now—settled in a new way. Like this was starting to become a rhythm.

“Do you ever think about Ferrix?” you asked suddenly, voice quiet in the dark.

Cassian let out a small breath. “All the time”, he gave a faint shrug, tracing your back. “You were different back then.”

“So were you.”

“I mean it. You were… softer.”

You raised a brow. “Wow. Thanks.”

He shook his head quickly, catching your sarcasm. “Not weak. Just… younger. You were still figuring everything out.”

You fell quiet for a beat. “I felt like I had to. I was always trying to catch up to you and Bix. Like I was tagging along.”

Cassian gave a soft laugh, one you could feel rumble under your cheek. “You say that like it bothered us.”

“You didn’t seem to notice.”

“I noticed everything,” he said.

Your heart kicked.

“You were fearless in weird ways,” he continued, voice more thoughtful now. “You’d try things even when you were scared. Speak up even if your voice shook. You had no idea how brave that made you look.”

You lifted your head slightly, looking at him.

“I think I liked you even back then,” he said, eyes on the ceiling. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I just figured you’d never really… see me that way.”

You blinked, surprised. “Are you serious?”

Cassian glanced at you. “Why do you think I kept giving you shit all the time?”

“I thought you just liked being annoying.”

“That too,” he muttered. Then, softer: “But mostly it was because when you smiled at me, I forgot how to talk.”

You were quiet, but not because you didn’t have anything to say. You just hadn’t expected that.

You leaned forward, closing the space between you, kissing him before he could say anything else.

And this time, he didn’t hold back. He pulled you flush against him, hand tangling in your shirt, mouth parting yours with something closer to urgency than tenderness. You let him—wanted him—until you were breathless and flushed, your body pressed tight to his.

Eventually, you broke the kiss, nose brushing his. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposedly bad with words.” He let out a low chuckle that filled your stomach with butterflies.

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you crouched beside a tangled mess of wiring in the back of Maintenance Bay 2. Your hands were already smudged with grease, and you’d been trying to make the same old junction box stop sparking for the past ten minutes.

“You’re glowing,” Kiira announced, strolling in like she hadn’t just woken up fifteen minutes ago. “Either he railed you stupid or you found a working caf machine.”

You didn’t even look up. “Both.”

“Ugh. Gross. I didn’t need confirmation.”

You smirked. “You asked.”

“I didn’t actually ask. I just strongly implied.”

Kiira plopped down on the crate beside you, sipping from her own caf like it was a damn mimosa. “So. You and Captain Smolder now share quarters or what?”

“No,” you said, too quickly. “I still have a room.”

“That you haven’t used in, like, four days.”

You gave her a look. “It’s not like that.”

Kiira raised a brow. “You two are attached at the hip. He left for two days and you were unbearable.”

You reached for the wire splicer. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were miserable.Kept on staring at the clock waiting for him to arrive”

You tried to hide your grin. “Shut up.”

She grinned back. “I’m just saying—it’s nice seeing you like this.”

“Greasy and irritable?”

“No,” she said. “Happy. It suits you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we not do the whole heart-to-heart thing before breakfast?”

Kiira held up her hands. “Fine. But don’t think I didn’t see that hickey under your collar.”

Your head snapped toward her. “There’s not—”

“There is. You’re sloppy, babe.”

You groaned and shoved her with your foot. She laughed.

Kiira stood and stretched. “Alright. I’m off to pretend I know how to fix a power converter. I’ll see you later tonight at the bar”

You smirked and lobbed a bolt at her. “Try not to be late this time.”

Kiira caught it one-handed, already sauntering toward the exit. “Try not to drink like a rookie this time.”

The bar was exactly what you remembered—dim lights, sticky floors, and a jukebox that only played two songs on loop. It smelled like spilled liquor and old gear grease. But somehow, it always felt like the safest place on base. Like the war didn’t follow you past the threshold.

 “To our girl,” Kiira said loudly, raising a dented tin cup above her head. “Back on her feet. Cleared for duty. And somehow still hot despite nearly bleeding out on a crate of ration packs.”

You groaned into your drink. “Can you not say the word ‘bled’ while I’m eating?”

Cassian sat beside you, one arm along the back of the booth. His drink sat mostly untouched, his posture relaxed.

Kiira grinned across the table, slinging an arm over your shoulders despite the fact that she was already a drink ahead of you. “I’m serious. I’ve seen people take less damage and come back looking like boiled meat.”

“Wow,” you said flatly.

“She’s complimenting you,” Cassian murmured near your ear.

“She’s terrible at it.”

“I’m incredible at it,” Kiira protested. “You just don’t know how to accept love.”

You rolled your eyes and drained your glass. Whatever mix they’d poured tonight was stronger than usual, warm in your chest and legs, softening all the edges. You tipped your head back against the booth and caught Cassian watching you—subtle, but unmistakable.

You raised an eyebrow. “You judging me?”

“Just observing.”

“Uh-huh.”

He didn’t say anything. Just reached for his drink and took a slow sip, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smile.

Kiira caught it instantly. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t see that.”

Cassian looked at her, deadpan. “See what?”

“That look. You’re, like, three seconds away from dragging her out of here by her waistband for a quick fuck.”

You choked on your drink. “Kiira.”

She shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying—it’s quite obvious.”

Cassian stayed silent, but the flick of his thumb along your arm under the table was answer enough.

You tried not to grin. Failed.

Before you could respond, a loud voice cut through the bar.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t Captain Andor.”

Cassian turned just as Melshi strode in from the doorway, peeling off his jacket and slapping it across the back of a nearby chair.

“I thought I recognized that scowl,” Melshi said, grinning. “Didn’t think I’d find you cozying up in a booth like some domesticated war hero.”

Cassian rolled his eyes but stood to greet him. They clasped hands, pulled each other into a brief, brotherly hug that said more than words could. You rose, brushing your hands on your pants.

“You must be Melshi,” you said, offering your hand.

Melshi blinked, then gave Cassian a look. “This her?”

Cassian didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly to your side—close enough tto answer his question without any words.

Melshi’s eyes moved to you. He didn’t say anything at first—just looked. And then:

“Oh. So this is her.”

You blinked. “Her?”

He slid into the seat next to Kiira. “The one he mentioned when we were stuck halfway to nowhere the other month. Ferrix girl. Couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss you or throw something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And which do you think it was?”

Melshi chuckled. “Probably both.”

Cassian didn’t comment—just picked up his glass and took a slow sip, unbothered.

Kiira leaned in, looking delighted. “So you’re a second witness to his secret soft side?”

Melshi snorted. “Hardly. This guy didn’t tell me anything on purpose. Just muttered your name once when he was rewiring the nav console and shocked himself.”

Kiira cackled into her drink.

Cassian muttered, “You’re not staying long, are you?”

Melshi ignored him, gesturing to the drinks. “What are we celebrating?”

“She got cleared for active duty,” Kiira said, raising her glass toward you. “First mission back starts next cycle.”

Melshi’s brows lifted. “No shit? You’re the one who took a blaster to the ribs, right?”

You gave a dry smile. “News travels fast.”

“Gossip does,” Melshi said. “But still—hell of a thing. You look good for someone who nearly bled out.”

“Thanks,” you said.

Cassian’s mouth twitched. He didn’t say much, but his thumb brushed the side of your leg again beneath the table—gentle, reassuring. Like he needed the reminder that you were still here, still in one piece.

You leaned slightly into his side, letting that quiet contact settle you. The talk moved on, the drinks kept flowing, and you let yourself be in it—just for now.

An hour later, the booth was scattered with half-finished drinks, a dented deck of cards, and the remains of something that had once been food. Melshi had somehow talked all of you into a game none of you fully remembered the rules to, which, frankly, only made it more fun.

Kiira was talking shit. Melshi was talking louder. Cassian watched it all with that unreadable expression of his—calm, amused, sipping his drink like he didn’t want to miss a second.

You were drunk. Not sloppy, not out of control. Just warm and loose, that kind of buzz that made the lights a little softer and the laughter easier.

You leaned your weight into Cassian’s side, legs folded beneath you. His arm rested behind you on the booth, fingertips brushing the curve of your shoulder now and then like he didn’t notice—or like he absolutely did.

“Okay,” Kiira said, throwing a card. “That move was illegal. You should be arrested.”

“You’re making the rules up as you go,” Melshi said, deadpan. “Pretty sure you just made three of the same play in a row.”

“Bold of you to assume I know how to count right now.”

You laughed into your drink and nearly spilled it. Cassian reached over instinctively, steadying the cup with one hand while the other ghosted over your thigh.

“You good?” he asked under his breath, low enough for only you.

You nodded, blinking up at him. “Just tipsy.”

He gave a quiet hum. “You’re flushed.”

You rolled your eyes and slouched lower into his side, letting the hum of the bar and the heat of him next to you settle into your bones.

Someone dropped a glass at the bar. A cheer went up. Melshi shouted something about cheating again.

Eventually, the game fell apart—Kiira started dealing the cards upside down, Melshi accused her of sabotage, and you were too far gone to follow who was actually winning.

“You two are a menace,” you mumbled, propping your chin on your hand.

Melshi leaned back, tossing his cards onto the table. “Alright, I’m calling it. If we keep playing, someone’s gonna cry.”

“And that someone is gonna be you,” Kiira said, grabbing her jacket off the back of the booth.

Melshi stood, stretching with a dramatic groan. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You watched Kiira and Melshi disappear out the door, her hand wrapped around his forearm like she’d done it a thousand times before. He was still saying something, talking fast with that crooked grin like he was trying to win her over with pure charm. She was smirking—amused, maybe impressed. Hard to tell with Kiira.

Cassian leaned on the edge of the table beside you, arms crossed. “They’re really leaving together?”

You arched a brow. “Looks like it.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You snorted. “I did. She’s been teasing him all night—and he’s barely blinked.”

Cassian’s gaze lingered on the door a second longer before glancing at you. “Think that’ll go anywhere?”

You shrugged, stretching your arms overhead. “Depends if they kill each other or hook up first.”

He gave a wry smile, “She’d eat him alive.”

“That’s probably why he likes her.”

You laughed—soft and a little sleepy. The bar had thinned out, most of the tables empty now. Your head felt pleasantly warm, a little fuzzy around the edges. You weren’t drunk enough to forget, just tipsy enough to stop overthinking things. Cassian hadn’t moved far from you all night—his knee kept brushing yours under the table, his fingers catching yours once when you’d dropped a card. You hadn’t said anything. Neither had he. But the weight of it lingered.

You nudged him with your foot. “They actually kind of work.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “They do?”

You gave a small shrug. “He’s cocky, but not in a bad way. She’ll keep him on his toes.”

He tilted his head like he was considering it, then nodded. “Could be worse.”

You stood slowly, brushing your hands on your pants. “Well, now that our entertainment’s left…”

Cassian stood as well, watching you for a moment like he was assessing how unsteady your legs were.

“We should head back,” he said.

You didn’t protest. Just gave him a small grin.

The walk back was quiet, the kind of silence that came from familiarity. You leaned into him more than usual, your shoulder bumping his. Cassian didn’t tease you, didn’t ask if you were okay—just walked at your pace, steady and grounded like always.

When you reached his room, he keyed open the door and guided you inside with a hand on the small of your back.

The light was soft—dimmed automatically when he stepped in. You made it as far as the chair before toeing off your boots and sinking down with a huff.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

Cassian arched a brow, crouching to help pull off the second boot. “No?”

“Just… a little spinny.”

He didn’t laugh, but he smiled—just slightly. “Come on.”

You stood, swaying only slightly, and let him lead you to the bed. You flopped down with a sigh, already pulling the blanket over your chest. He moved around the room in quiet efficiency—boots, jacket, belt—before finally slipping in beside you.

You rolled toward him immediately, burying your face in his shoulder.

Cassian rested his arm around you, his hand splayed against your back. He didn’t speak. Just held you until your breathing evened out.

You were asleep within minutes.

And for a long time, he just laid there—awake, watching the way your fingers curled against his shirt

The days slipped by in quiet pieces.

You were back on missions now—light ones at first. Supply escorts, outpost checks, the occasional recon flyover. Nothing high-risk, but enough to shake the rust off. To prove to yourself that you could still do this.

Cassian never said anything when you’d return from a mission, but he was always there—leaning against the wall by the hangar, arms crossed, gaze steady. Sometimes he’d ask how it went. Other times, he didn’t have to. He’d just walk with you. Quietly, closely. Like he was grounding you. Like he knew you needed the silence more than the debrief.

Nights belonged to him.

You hadn’t officially moved into his quarters, but it might as well be yours too by now. Your jacket hung on the back of his chair. Your socks filled one of his drawers. He never mentioned it. Never asked for space. If anything, he pulled you in closer each night—hands on your waist, breath warm on your shoulder, like having you there helped him sleep.

It helped you, too.

Things were… normal. Or the closest thing to it. Missions rotated in and out. The mess hall was always too loud. The hallways always smelled faintly of coolant and burned caf. But you felt steady again. Strong. Like you were standing on your own feet, not flinching every time the alert buzzed.

The scar on your ribs itched occasionally, but that was it… and you could live with that.

What you hadn’t expected was how easily Cassian folded into your routines—and how much you missed him when he was gone, even for a day or two. 

You still weren’t sure what to call this—what you were to each other. But it didn’t matter much when he looked at you the way he did. When his hands found your hips in the dark, or when he poured you caf before you could even ask.

You were his. That was enough.

For now

[srue-on-fire]

Your Toes Touch Mine

Pairing: Tony Stark x Bucky Barnes Words: 1780 Rating: General Audiences Prompt: #19. "Why are you cuddling me?" - "You were cold." Title: Prateek Kuhad's cold/mess prompt list 🩶 read on ao3

❄️.❤️‍🩹

Tony didn’t mean to skip dinner.

It wasn’t intentional —at least, not entirely. He just got caught up in the new repulsor calibration, and then he got an idea for a modular nanite upgrade, and then there was a minor incident with DUM-E knocking over an entire tray of micro capacitors… and, well.

Things happened.

By the time Bucky showed up, Tony was elbow-deep in circuit boards, running on coffee and pure stubbornness.

The door slid open with a soft whoosh, and Tony barely looked up before calling, “Unless you’ve got an offering of caffeine, state your business quickly and go away.”

There was no response, but footsteps crossed the room anyway —steady, deliberate, like whoever it was had no intention of listening to him.

Tony glanced up, already prepped with some snark, only to find Bucky Barnes standing there, a plate balanced in his metal hand.

Tony blinked.

“Uh.”

Bucky gave him an unimpressed look and set the plate down on the nearest workbench. “You missed dinner.”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, gaze flicking between Bucky and the food.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “that’s terribly presumptuous of you.”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow.

Tony huffed. “What, you’re the meals police now?”

Bucky leaned against the workbench, clearly settling in. “Eat.”

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes very dramatically, but grabbed the plate anyway. “I am supposed to be the boss here.”

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait, just smirked a little, “You’re welcome.”

Tony muttered something under his breath about pushy super-soldiers but took a bite. He had been hungry, apparently —his body made that abundantly clear the second he actually started eating.

Bucky didn’t leave.

Which, okay, fine, Tony was getting used to it at this point. He might as well add Bucky to the list of people who hover in the workshop. Pepper did it. Rhodey did it. Happy, JARVIS, hell —even Steve sometimes. 

“You stickin’ around for a reason, or is this part of your master plan to keep me under surveillance?” Tony asked, gesturing at him with his fork.

Bucky shrugged. “Figured I’d hang back for a bit.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Bucky tilted his head, like he wasn’t sure why Tony was questioning it at all. “Why not?”

Well. That was… suspiciously reasonable.

Tony chewed, considering. Bucky didn’t look like he had some ulterior motive. He just looked— relaxed. Comfortable, even, as he leaned against the workbench, gaze flicking over the half done projects lying on the top. 

Huh. 

Tony decided to let it go.

“Fine. But if you’re gonna lurk, make yourself useful.”

“What,” Bucky smirked. “You want me to solder something for you?”

“God, no,” Tony shoved the plate aside and wiped his hands off. “You can, however, go make sure DUM-E hasn’t found another way to commit robot-assisted manslaughter.”

Bucky glanced toward the far side of the workshop, where the robot in question was idly spinning one of Tony’s wrenches like a toddler with a new toy.

“Seems harmless to me.”

“Yeah, until he decides to fling that thing at my head.”

Bucky snorted but obligingly pushed off the workbench and wandered over. DUM-E beeped at him excitedly, waving the wrench like a puppy showing off a stolen shoe. He took the wrench from its claws and replaced it with a stress ball, eyes smiling when DUM-E twirled happily. 

Tony went back to his work, dragging his focus away from the very not cute interaction with great difficulty. He occasionally glanced up to watch as Bucky inspected various pieces of tech with mild curiosity, ran his fingers over some unfinished gauntlets, and even let DUM-E nudge at his metal arm like the two of them were becoming fast friends.

Weirdly, it wasn’t bad having him here.

Tony worked better alone—always had—but Bucky’s presence wasn’t intrusive. He wasn’t trying to force conversation or help in the way people sometimes did when they hovered. He was just… there.

It was oddly nice.

After a while, Bucky tapped a knuckle against the unfinished gauntlet on the workbench. “So, what’s this one do? More firepower?”

Tony didn’t even look up. “Not everything has to be a bigger boom, Snowflake,” he tightened a screw inside the casing. “This is a modular nanite upgrade for quick-repair capabilities. Basically, if something gets busted mid-battle, the suit can patch itself up on the fly.”

Bucky whistled low. “Self-healing armor?”

“Eh, more like self-preserving. It won’t grow back missing pieces, but it’ll redistribute nanites to cover weak points,” Tony glanced at him. “Try to keep up.”

Bucky smirked. “So you’re programming it to prioritize damage control. Do the nanites reinforce structural integrity first, or are they more reactive to surface-level threats?”

Tony paused mid-adjustment, and looked up at Bucky, a little surprised and a lot chuffed. “Oh, wow, someone’s been educating themselves.”

Bucky shrugged, biting back a pleased smile, and nodded toward the circuit board Tony was working on. “So what’s stopping the nanites from overcompensating and turning your suit into an overgrown metal cocoon?”

Tony grinned, obviously excited. “Excellent question, Sergeant Barnes. And the answer is— nanite clustering thresholds. Basically, I wrote an algorithm that prevents them from going full metal blob horror on me. The suit can only deploy repairs up to a certain density before it starts reallocating nanites elsewhere.”

Bucky hummed, tapping a finger on the surface, “So it’s like a controlled tide. Push and pull.”

Tony pointed at him with his screwdriver, “Exactly. Finally, someone in this tower who speaks fluent genius.”

DUM-E beeped excitedly and waved the wrench it got hold of, again.

Tony sighed. “Not you, dummy. You still haven’t figured out lefty-loosey, righty-tighty.”

DUM-E let out an indignant whir.

Bucky smirked. “Y’know, for a guy who claims to be the smartest in the room, you built a robot that doesn’t know how to screw in a bolt.”

Tony threw up his hands. “He has personality!”

DUM-E flailed the wrench again, almost knocking over a tray of screws.

Bucky smirked. “Yeah. Real charming.”

Before Tony could defend his teenage choices, JARVIS’ voice cut through their banter.

“Sir, the Mumbai R&D team is awaiting your presence for the briefing.”

“Wait, what?” Tony snapped his head back to the table, pulling up a hologram.

“You haven’t reviewed the reports I summarized, yet, Sir,” JARVIS said, flashing a new window of the reports. “Despite my reminders.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve still got a couple of minutes, right?” Tony huffed, diving back into work. 

He didn’t notice Bucky grabbing the empty plate behind him and leaving the workshop quietly, with a small wave to DUM-E. And hours later, he trudged up to his room exhausted and sleepy, drifting off in a matter of seconds after his head hit the pillow. 

“Wha—?”

Tony’s voice was muffled against the pillow, rough with sleep and confusion. He blinked blearily at the dark room, struggling to process the warm weight pressed up against his back. His brain, which usually ran at a million miles per hour, was slow to catch up, sluggish under the weight of deep sleep and… oh.

That was definitely an arm around his waist. A heavy arm. Metal one, to be exact.

His body jolted as realization set in, and he twisted slightly, peering over his shoulder. The dim glow of the arc reactor on the nightstand illuminated the barest outline of a face, sharp jaw and soft lips, dark hair spilling over the pillow.

Bucky Barnes.

Cuddling him.

Tony’s first instinct should have been alarm. Should have been “what the hell is happening right now?”, followed by a sharp command to JARVIS.

But there was no alarm. No automated defense systems kicking in.

“Why are you cuddling me?” His voice came out rough, thick with sleep.

Bucky made a noise, somewhere between a huff and a sigh, before mumbling, "You were cold."

Tony blinked. He let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Cold. Sure. That made sense.

Wait. Wait. What?

"That’s a terrible excuse," Tony muttered, even as he registered the undeniable warmth seeping from Bucky’s body into his own. He had been cold, he realized distantly. Now he wasn’t.

"S’not an excuse," Bucky murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep. "You were shivering."

Tony frowned. Had he been? He didn’t remember. He’d gone to sleep alone, obviously, and at some point, Bucky had crawled into bed with him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Notably, JARVIS hadn’t raised any alarms when Bucky entered his room.

Tony wasn’t sure what to do with that realization.

"And your solution was to—" Tony paused, then gestured vaguely between them.

"Yeah," Bucky said simply.

Tony turned his head again, staring at him in the dim light. Bucky was watching him, eyes still half-lidded from sleep, but clear enough that Tony knew he wasn’t messing with him.

God, he was unfairly handsome. Even half-asleep and bed-rumpled, Bucky Barnes looked like he belonged on a damn magazine cover.

“You know, most people would just toss me an extra blanket,” he sighed.

“You don’t like extra blankets.”

That was… true. Tony hated them. They made him feel trapped.

Still.

“You could’ve woken me up,” he mumbled, grasping at the last threads of his skepticism.

Bucky huffed softly, like the idea was ridiculous. “You looked exhausted.”

Tony fell silent. 

He wasn’t sure when they’d reached this… thing between them. Where Bucky could slip into his bed and JARVIS didn’t even question it. Where Tony woke up warm instead of shivering, and it didn’t set off alarm bells in his brain.

Tony let his head drop back onto the pillow.

“If you’re gonna be my personal space heater,” he muttered, “you might as well commit to the role.”

Tony let out a breath and turned his face back toward the pillow, his heart hammering annoyingly fast. For a second, there was only silence. And then, Bucky shifted again, this time properly settling against him, his arm more secure around Tony’s waist.

This was… not the worst thing in the world.

Actually, it was kind of nice.

Really nice.

He let out a slow breath, and let his body relax back into Bucky’s. He should probably be questioning this. Should probably be wondering why Bucky came to his room in the first place. But the warmth was seeping into his bones now, the steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing already coaxing his body back to sleep. 

If this was a thing now, he wasn’t going to complain.

❄️.❤️‍🩹

A/N: i hadn't meant for this to be this long. but i had so much fun writing it. mostly the research part lol. took me a whole day. thanks for the ask, anon!

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

STILL ONE OF THE GREATEST REVEALS IN THE HISTORY OF THE MARVEL UNIVERSE.

PIC INFO: Part 2 of 2 -- Spotlight on the big reveal (a splash page, no less) of the newly-minted Iron Man "Hulkbuster" armor, from the final page of "IRON MAN" Vol. 1 #304 ["Crash and Burn" story arc]. June, 1994. Marvel Comics.

Story/script: Len Kaminski

Pencils: Kev Hopgood

Inks: Steve Mitchell

Colors: Ariane

Letters: Phil Felix and Pat Brosseau

Source: www.zipcomic.com/iron-man-1968-issue-304.

[serenastark-official]

It had taken hours—hours of scanning, cross-referencing, analyzing heat signatures, tracking inconsistencies in foot traffic, hacking every possible CCTV feed—but Serena was nothing if not persistent. Dani was good, but Serena was better.

Dani had covered her tracks well. No heat signatures, no footprints, no digital trail. But Serena wasn’t just some rookie trying to track an assassin. And if there was one thing Serena never let go of, it was a goddamn grudge.

She caught a break when she spotted an anomaly in traffic cams—one frame missing, a slight glitch in a surveillance loop. Not much, but just enough to lead her to a very specific part of New York.

Now, Serena hovered above, hidden in the darkness, watching as Dani sat casually on a bench, sipping on another goddamn bottle of vodka like she hadn’t just pulled off a full-scale disappearance act.

Serena’s eye twitched. Ohhh, you are so done.

Without a word, she activated her gauntlets. A flick of her wrist, a press of a button—

SHOOM!

Two perfectly aimed Stark-tech cuffs shot out, latching onto Dani’s wrists before she could even blink. A split second later—BZZT!—they locked in place, electro-magnetized, preventing any quick movements or escape tricks.

With a deafening BOOM, Serena blasted through the entrance in her suit, the force of the landing shaking the ground. Her helmet snapped back, revealing the absolute rage on her face.

“SURPRISE, MOTHERLAND!” she shouted, voice dripping with vengeance and pure petty fury.

Before Dani could react, Serena raised her arm, palm glowing with a repulsor blast, and smirked wickedly.

“Miss me?”

@the-good-redheaded-witch

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

Chapter 86

The Scepter's Call

The Hydra stronghold loomed against the backdrop of the Sokovian mountains, its ancient stone walls reinforced with cutting-edge technology. The energy field surrounding it crackled like a storm waiting to break.

Y/N hovered in the air beside Tony, scanning the structure, her senses stretching beyond the physical. The air around them thrummed with power, but something beneath the surface called to her—faint, but familiar.

Loki’s scepter.

She didn’t just recognize its energy. She felt it. The Mind Stone still resonated with her after what she had absorbed.

It wasn’t just an object. It was a beacon.

But first, they had to get inside.

Tony fired a repulsor blast at the barrier.

The energy rebounded instantly.

“Shit!” Tony yelped, spiraling backward.

The force struck Y/N, sending a sharp sting through her veins. She gritted her teeth, catching herself mid-air.

“Fuck!” she hissed, shaking off the lingering pain.

“Language!”

Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, exasperated.

Y/N groaned. “Steve, I swear to god—”

Tony chuckled. “Oh, you know you just made that worse.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but beneath her irritation, the pull of the scepter grew stronger.

She needed to get inside.

Using her abilities, Y/N found a weak point in the energy field. It took a combined effort—Tony’s tech manipulation and her power warping reality just enough to slip them through the barrier without triggering alarms.

As they landed on the castle’s cold stone ledge, Tony eyed the solid wall ahead of them.

“Please be a secret door, please be a secret door…” he muttered, pressing his hand against the stone.

With a soft click, the wall shifted open.

“…Yay.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. “Nice work, Stark.”

“Eh, I have a gift.”

They stepped into the dim corridor, the air thick with age and something else—something unnatural.

Y/N didn’t even have to think. She closed her eyes and felt the space around her.

The scepter.

It was here.

“I know where it is,” she murmured, eyes snapping open.

Tony glanced at her. “Care to share with the class?”

She didn’t answer. She just started walking.

And then—

A ripple of red light.

Before Y/N could react, tendrils of crimson energy coiled around Tony’s head.

His body stiffened. His breath hitched.

Y/N turned sharply.

A figure stepped from the darkness.

A young woman with tangled dark hair, her piercing eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Her fingers twitched, and Tony let out a sharp, pained breath as the red mist tightened around him.

Y/N felt the pressure of a foreign presence pressing against her own mind—

But it shattered instantly.

The woman’s eyes widened in shock.

Y/N smirked. “Nice try.”

She lunged, grasping Tony by the shoulders, pressing her fingers against his temples. A pulse of her power surged through him, erasing the illusion infecting his thoughts.

Tony gasped, stumbling back. “Oh my god. Oh, that sucked.”

The woman’s expression twisted in frustration.

She raised her hands again, energy crackling—

Y/N clenched her fist.

The space around them bent.

The attack snapped uselessly against an invisible barrier.

“Not in the mood for nightmares today,” Y/N muttered.

Then, before the woman could react, Y/N grabbed Tony’s arm and vanished.

They reappeared in another part of the castle, away from immediate danger.

“You really need to warn me before you do that,” Tony muttered, shaking off the disorientation.

Y/N ignored him. She was focused.

The closer they got, the louder the scepter’s presence became in her mind. It wasn’t just a hum of power—it was a voice, whispering at the edges of her consciousness, trying to reach her.

Tony sighed. “Why is it always a creepy underground chamber?”

“Come on,” she said, leading the way.

It was colder than the rest of the castle, carved into the very foundation of the fortress. The air smelled of damp stone and old metal, the scent of something ancient lying in wait.

Y/N didn’t need to see it to know it was here.

The pull of the scepter was intoxicating—whispers curling in the corners of her mind, threading through her consciousness like vines desperate to take root. The Mind Stone called to her, recognizing a piece of itself within her.

She clenched her jaw, pushing away the sensation.

“Alright, creepy basement. Check. Alien weapon of mass destruction? Also check,” Tony muttered as they stepped into the chamber.

At the center of the room, resting on an illuminated pedestal, was Loki’s scepter.

A low hum of energy pulsed from it, faint but steady, like a heartbeat.

Y/N’s own heart pounded in response.

A soft wave of nostalgia washed over her as she looked at it. She remembered the first time her fingers had grazed its surface, the way time seemed to pause when her eyes met his—the troubled god who had since become the heart of her every longing. But it was quickly replaced by the prior dread she was feeling.

She took a slow step forward, feeling the pressure in her mind grow.

It knew her.

The scepter was no ordinary weapon. The Mind Stone within it was alive, sentient in a way few understood. And it was reaching for her, as if trying to merge the fractured pieces of itself that had been left within her when she absorbed its power.

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus.

“We taking this thing or what?” Tony asked, his voice cutting through the haze.

Y/N nodded. Without hesitation, she reached out, wrapping her fingers around the scepter’s hilt.

A shock of energy traveled up her arm.

As they made their way out of the underground chamber, Y/N felt it again.

The weight of someone watching.

Not with eyes.

With power.

The presence wasn’t physical—it slithered along the edges of her mind, probing for weaknesses, searching for a way in.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her.

The girl from before.

Even now, she lingered, her energy like an echo wrapping around Y/N’s senses.

Tony was talking, but his words blurred. The castle walls seemed to stretch, the air growing thick.

And then—

A voice.

Not aloud. Not in the room.

But in her mind.

A boy’s voice, sharp and uncertain, laced with an accent.

"Are we just going to let them take it?"

Y/N stiffened.

It wasn’t a memory.

It wasn’t a thought.

It was real.

She wasn’t just feeling their presence—she was hearing them.

She felt the girl’s energy shift, sharp and calculating. Plotting.

A decision forming.

Y/N swallowed hard.

She didn’t tell Tony.

Didn’t tell him about the voices. About the girl. About the feeling that they weren’t leaving alone.

She just walked.

And took the scepter with her.

[sharkwidow]

Baking Cookies | Wanda Maximoff

ᯓ★Summary: As the daughter of Tony Stark, you try to help Wanda bake cookies using your own ingenious methods, but things don't go as planned.

ᯓ★Setting: A quiet afternoon at the Avengers compound.

ᯓ★Content warning:None

ᯓ★Word count:1,200 words

---

The kitchen is alive with the comforting scents of sugar, vanilla, and butter as you stand beside Wanda, your hands dusted with flour. You're attempting, with varying degrees of success, to help her bake cookies. Wanda seems so calm and collected, a sharp contrast to your usual need to tinker and complicate things. You’re trying, but the chaos of your mind constantly drifts toward new ways to make this process better—or at least faster.

"Okay, so if I use the suit's repulsor beams to heat the dough more evenly, we can speed this up, right?" you ask, already stepping back toward the table, ready to get your suit involved.

Wanda gives you an amused look, her eyes twinkling with both affection and concern. "You really want to use your suit to bake cookies?" she asks, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“I mean, why not? It’s just a little heat,” you reply, trying to sound convincing as you reach for the gauntlet on the counter.

"You’ve got that look in your eyes—the one where you think you can fix everything with technology," Wanda says, still laughing. "Sweetheart, let's not turn this into another science experiment. The oven works just fine. Why don’t you let me handle this?"

You shrug, reluctantly pulling your suit back from the counter. "Fine. But if they burn, I’m blaming you," you tease.

Wanda chuckles and begins carefully shaping the cookie dough into little rounds on the tray. "Oh, I’m sure they’ll turn out just fine without the need for any high-tech solutions."

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch her. Her movements are so graceful, so unhurried. It’s a stark contrast to the constant rush of your thoughts, the need to always be doing something faster or better.

You try to help, grabbing a spoon and scooping some dough, but as you make the move, you accidentally drop some onto the counter, making a little mess.

Wanda looks over, her eyebrow raising slightly. “You’ve got to be a little more careful, sweetheart. It’s not like building a suit—you can’t just throw things together and hope for the best.”

“I’m trying,” you grumble, wiping up the mess with a cloth, trying to hide the frustration creeping up on you. It’s clear Wanda has this under control and you’re struggling to keep up.

But you don’t give up. As the dough rests on the counter, you get an idea. The oven timer is set, but you’re sure you could get the cookies to cook faster with a little help from your suit.

"Okay, fine. I’m doing it my way," you mutter, your fingers already working to activate the suit's systems.

Before Wanda can stop you, you’re standing by the oven, using your repulsor beams to try and heat the dough evenly. The heat from your suit blasts out, but instead of the cookies baking perfectly, a faint burnt smell starts to fill the room. You glance down, and your heart sinks.

You quickly check the oven, but the damage is done—the cookies are charred beyond recognition.

"Uh, Wanda?" you call, feeling a little guilty. "I think I might’ve, uh, overheated them..."

Wanda turns around, and before she can even speak, she catches a whiff of the disaster. She bursts out laughing, the sound so light and carefree. "Sweetheart, I told you not to use your suit," she says, shaking her head with a smile. "It’s not a baking tool."

You let out a frustrated sigh, scratching the back of your neck. "I didn’t mean to burn them. I thought I could speed it up, but... I guess I got carried away."

Wanda, still chuckling softly, walks over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "It’s okay. We’ll just start over." She reaches into the fridge and pulls out another batch of dough she had prepared earlier. “I made a backup. You can’t rush perfection, you know."

You blink, surprised. "Wait, you had another batch ready?"

"Of course," she replies with a wink. "I’ve learned from experience that things don’t always go according to plan. And I know your father’s tendency to, well, experiment."

You grin sheepishly, feeling a little better. “I guess I got that from him.”

“You did,” Wanda says with a small, affectionate smile. “And that’s why I love you.”

She quickly sets the new dough onto the tray and places it in the oven, giving you an encouraging nod. "This time, let’s just let things take their time. No shortcuts."

You nod, feeling a little humbled by her patience and the calmness she brings to the situation. "Alright, no more tech experiments. I’ll stick to the old-fashioned way."

The cookies bake in peaceful silence, and you can’t help but notice how comforting the process is when you’re not trying to rush through it. Wanda’s calm presence makes everything seem easier, even when things don’t go according to plan. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the simple way is the best way.

The oven timer dings, and Wanda carefully pulls out the tray of cookies, their golden edges and soft centers perfect this time. You grin, knowing you’re going to get to enjoy them without any disasters this time.

“Much better,” you say, looking at her with a satisfied smile.

Wanda smiles back, her eyes soft with affection. "See? Sometimes, it’s just about letting things unfold, not forcing them."

You reach for one of the cookies and take a bite, savoring the warm sweetness. "I think I’m starting to understand. No more high-tech baking experiments for me."

Wanda laughs again, the sound warm and light. She steps closer, gently brushing some stray flour off your cheek. "Good. But you still get to help clean up."

You groan dramatically, but it’s hard to stay upset when you’re with her. Her laughter is infectious, and as you both sit down to enjoy the cookies together, you realize that even the simplest moments—like baking cookies and laughing together—are the ones that make you feel truly at home.

"Next time," you say, a playful grin on your face, "I’ll make sure I don’t burn them."

Wanda smiles at you, her eyes full of warmth. "I’m looking forward to it."

And as you finish your cookies together, you realize that no matter what happens, the best part of this was simply being here, with her, in this quiet moment.

[under0-0s]

Location: Stark Tower, Manhattan Time: 06:43 AM

(Listen to the music to enhance the reading experience.)

The sky above Manhattan is a crisp, unforgiving shade of blue, with the sun gleaming off the glass façade of Stark Tower. Outside, streets are lined with protestors—activists, veterans, former Stark Industries employees, and the occasional overzealous blogger holding signs that read “Weapons Kill, Stark!” and “No More War Profiteering!”. They chant, they yell, but nothing stops the relentless media storm from gathering inside the press hall.

Inside, journalists pack the grand atrium, cameras flashing, live streams running, and news anchors whispering urgent commentary into their microphones. The air buzzes with anticipation, tension so thick it could be cut with one of Stark’s own repulsor beams.

Then, the doors at the back of the stage open, and he walks in.

No Iron Man suit. No Avengers. No handlers. Just a crisp black suit, black-tinted sunglasses, and an air of absolute, untouchable confidence. The world’s most famous (and formerly redeemed) billionaire crosses the stage with a deliberate, steady stride.

He doesn’t acknowledge the cameras, the murmurs, the accusations waiting to be hurled his way. He steps up to the podium, places both hands on it, and leans slightly forward. He removes his sunglasses with an almost bored motion, tucks them into his jacket pocket, and lets the silence stretch—lets them wait for it.

Then, in a voice as smooth as ever, he speaks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, press vultures, corporate spies, government agents pretending to be interns—welcome."

"Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? We all know why we’re here. You, sitting there in the press row, half of you already drafting your hit pieces. You, government reps, gripping your pens so tight you’re about to snap ‘em in half. And you, my dear stockholders, wondering if you’re about to get a whole lot richer or if I’m about to tank your portfolios overnight."

"Relax. Breathe. I’m going to tell you exactly what’s happening, and you’re going to listen."

He pauses, scanning the room like he owns it—which, technically, he does.

"Stark Industries is reactivating its Weapons Division."

Chaos. Murmurs explode. Some reporters gasp. A flurry of fingers race over keyboards, headlines forming in real-time. But Tony? He just waits. Lets the uproar fester. Then he speaks again—sharper, firmer.

"Oh no, not the weapons, right? The same weapons that, for decades, kept entire nations from crumbling into dust? The same weapons that made Stark Industries the name it is today?"

"See, here’s the thing—I left the game. I walked away. I thought, naively, that taking my toys and going home would make the world a better place. That if I stopped making weapons, war would stop needing them. Turns out, that’s not how reality works."

"The world didn’t become safer. It became stupider."

A few nervous chuckles from the audience. Tony smirks. He owns the room now.

"Terrorists, rogue states, people who don’t give a damn about peace? They kept building. They kept stockpiling. They evolved. But the people who actually should have had the best tech? They got stuck playing defense with outdated scraps because of ethics committees and policy briefings."

"Meanwhile, aliens rain from the sky, psychos in masks keep popping up, and let’s not even start on the enhanced individuals running around with power levels straight out of a bad anime."

"And through all of that, what did I do? I built my suit. I fought my battles. I was the deterrent. But one suit—one man—isn’t enough. Not anymore."

He steps out from behind the podium now, walking across the stage, gesturing as he talks.

"Let’s get real. I am done pretending that morality alone can keep the world intact. You want a peaceful world? Then you need deterrence. Real deterrence. Superior firepower."

"So, here’s what happens next."

He turns sharply back toward the crowd, voice cutting through the stunned silence.

"The Stark Advanced Defense Initiative is launching immediately. We’re developing next-generation weaponry, AI-guided security systems, and proactive defense measures that ensure when—not if, but when—the next threat rises, the people who should have power actually do."

"This isn’t about war. It’s about control. About making sure the right hands hold the biggest sticks. And no one—no one—is better equipped to build those sticks than I am."

He lets that sink in, eyes locked on the silent crowd.

"I know what you’re thinking. ‘Tony, aren’t you a hero? Didn’t you quit all this? Didn’t you grow a conscience?’"

He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"Here’s what I learned about consciences: they don’t stop bullets. They don’t stop invasions. They don’t stop the people who will always choose violence over reason. Technology does. And for too long, I’ve been limiting what I build because I wanted to believe we’d find another way."

"Well, I don’t believe that anymore."

A heavy pause. He adjusts his suit jacket, smooths out an invisible wrinkle.

"Now, I expect backlash. I expect protests. I expect every morally righteous think tank to line up outside my door with their ethical handbooks, demanding explanations. But let me make one thing perfectly clear—"

"I don’t ask for permission to change the world. I do it."

"You know, it’s funny. For years, I’ve been called a visionary. A genius. A pioneer. I revolutionized clean energy, neural interfaces, quantum computing. I built the next century."

"And yet, the moment I announce that I’m reopening Stark Industries’ weapons division? I suddenly become the villain again."

"Seventeen years ago, I stood in front of the world and shut down Stark Weapons. I did it because I saw my technology in the wrong hands. Because I thought if I stepped away, the world would follow my lead."

"Guess what? It didn’t."

"Since then, we’ve seen more wars, more destruction, more threats—only now, instead of Stark weapons, we’ve got unchecked arms dealers, rogue states, and tech that’s embarrassingly behind the curve trying to hold them back."

"You want to hear something terrifying? The people in charge—the ones meant to be protecting you—are playing catch-up with the bad guys. And losing."

"You think peace talks are going to stop biological warfare? You think treaties are going to hold off cybernetic threats when the next dictator with a Wi-Fi signal decides he wants to rewrite history?"

"So, let me make this simple: I’m not asking permission. I’m not waiting for another ‘global summit’ to debate what should have been solved yesterday."

"Stark Industries is officially launching the Stark Advanced Defense Initiative. Next-generation military-grade tech. Weapons that don’t just respond to threats but eliminate them before they escalate. AI-driven strategic defenses. Long-range deterrents capable of neutralizing entire conflicts before they happen."

"This is not war-mongering. This is not reckless. This is evolution. And I don’t do second place."

"You want to debate ethics? You want to call me reckless? Fine. But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t ask for permission to change the world. I do it."

"Questions?"

The reporters explode with voices, shouting over each other, desperate for clarification, outrage, anything—Tony just smirks, raises a hand… and shakes his head.

"Yeah, no. I don’t do Q&As."

"That’ll be all."

With that, he steps back from the podium and walks off the stage, leaving the world to grapple with what he’s just set into motion. The cameras flash. The chaos unfolds. And for the first time in years, Tony Stark is exactly who he used to be—and he doesn’t care who hates him for it.

[ To whomsoever it may concern: @the1-and-only-peggycarter @oh-to-be-a-murderer @multiverse-peterbparker @clintbarton-thearrowguy @over-bi-the-wayside @the-good-redheaded-witch @its-nate-the-sharpshot @pepper-potts-in-charge @serenastark-official @crazyinlovewithmarvel @multifandomer537 @your-fav-russian-assassin @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass @lunamarvels @itsme-donnastrange @playgirlgenius @theoneandonlyjamiestark @emma-hope-stark-official @h-keener-official @project-traveler @the-iron-rose @we-love-redwing @the-best-black-widow ]

[bronzeandchitin]

🧠Having limited armor stolen from the forges of Mars, the Tech-Priests of the 7th Caelum adapted the standard Mars-Pattern Dunerider into a multi-purpose transport, mobile experimental weapons lab, and coffee machine (it's right next to the steering!). Notable improvements include water-traversing and submarine capabilities, Primaris-Era Repulsor tech, as well as the capability to mount heavy weapons for field testing exotic energies.