#and my child ended up dead under said billionaire's care...

[mikakuna]

and what happens when willis todd finds out his little boy died. he knows billionaire bruce wayne adopted jay-- the whole damn country knew.

so why. why did his baby boy get a better chance at life than willis could provide, just for him to still die before him, before he became an adult?

how could willis give up his parental rights to bruce wayne, the most privileged man on earth, expecting this man to keep his baby safe and happy and healthy-- when his little jay still died alone and scared.

bruce wayne had everything he could ever ask for. he had all the means to keep his son safe from any harm. and yet jason still died before he even reached his sweet sixteen.

willis thinks that maybe it's a family curse-- a curse he has to live with, knowing that he's failed everyone he's ever loved.

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

To love a hero

A/n: So I'm really sad right now and I'm gonna project that onto my writings, sorry in advance

Plot: Loving a hero is a difficult and heart wrenching task

Pairing: Peter parker x male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: lotta angst, happy ending because I’m not a monster, cussing, major character injury

Word count: 1774

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker went way back, even farther than Peter and Ned. The two had been friends since Pre-K, and only grew closer as the years went by. The two were almost interpretable, if one of the boys was seen, the other was close by.

No one really understood their friendship, but no one questioned it either. In high school the two boys became impossibly closer, Y/n was the first to know about Peter’s abilities, the brunette couldn’t keep something so big from his best friend. Y/n was there and helped make his first suit, the boy was there to soothe his aching bones and to nurse his blossoming bruises.

The pair shared an unbreakable bond, they were what love stories depicted. The love between them was seen by everyone but the two. Of course, Peter knew he was in love with Y/n and vice versa, but for two genius’ they were both dumbasses. Hell, even Tony stark noticed the young love blossoming, the billionaire could see how much the pair adored each other.  

On multiple occasions he’d tried to coerce the young superhero into admitting his feelings but was always given the same response.

“Y/n doesn’t like me like that Mr. Stark, I’m not ruining our friendship over my feelings.” Simple and to the point, but it drove Tony insane that the young genius was so fucking blind. He opted against bringing it up again after seeing such clear pain in Peter’s eyes every time they talked about it, being a bystander as time passed by.

Maybe Peter couldn’t see how enamored Y/n was with him, but Tony could. Especially as he clutched the said boy against his chest as he let out guttural and heart wrenching sobs.

It had all started off as a normal Saturday, Peter was over at Y/n’s the two sitting on the couch and watching some unknown movie, it was purely background noise. The two boys were to focused on each other and their conversation to care about the movie. The domestic peace was ruined by Peter’s phone chiming, a familiar sound that always caused dread to run down Y/n’s spine.

It was the sound of Peter’s police scanner, hearing the radio chatter begin. “Unknown entity in central park, currently creating a perimeter and pushing back civilians, backup requested.” The look of determination crossed over Peter’s features, and if Y/n knew Peter would listen, he’d beg for him to let the avengers take care of it.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see you later N/n!” Peter did a mock salute to his best friend, easily escaping the home via window. For some unknown reason Y/n felt on edge, his gut tightening painfully. He immediately flicked on the news, only having to wait a few moments before the familiar figure of spiderman flung into frame.

The fight was nerve wrecking, watching as the Villain and superhero alike exchanged punches and kicks, and Y/n knew Peter was probably making stupid quips to keep his anxiety under control. The H/c haired boy gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched the fight escalate, getting more violent by the second.

The villain had hit Peter with all their might, and Y/n could only watch as the boy he loved more than anything was flung against a building before he crumpled to the ground. It was as the world stood still, stealing all the breath from Y/n’s lungs as the figure of spiderman didn’t budge, he didn’t get up. Peter promised he’d always get back up.

He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on, air was to thick to breathe and he could feel the moisture running down his face and the devastated cry that left his lips went unheard. The boy couldn’t really remember when Happy arrived at his house, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the disheveled teenager.

Y/n couldn’t remember the drive to the compound, it was as if his brain had just shut down, leaving him devoid of any life. Maybe that’s what Peter was like right now, devoid of life. His constant chatter silenced, his jittery movements stilled, his beautiful face pulled into the blank look of death.

The teenage boy could remember that Happy had to pull over so Y/n could vomit on the side of the road, silent sobs clenching his lungs in their vice. Never in all of his short life had he felt so much pain, never had he begged for the sweet release of darkness as he did now.

The H/c haired boy begged any god that would listen for this to be a nightmare, that he’d wake up and he and Peter would still be on the couch. The brunette would tease him for falling asleep, but he’d take anything to make this pain go away.

When he finally got to the compound and saw Tony waiting, the same grim look on his face as happy, it felt like every last shred of his strength and control was gone. Y/n collapsed into Tony’s arms, breaking into pieces. He only processed a few words “surgery” “critical” and “I’m so sorry.” Everything blended together as the billionaire led him to the medical wing, holding onto the breaking teenager, as if his touch would mend him.

Hours felt like eternity, it was hellish. The sobs that once left the teenager were turned into deafening silence, the occasional sniffle leaving the boy, comforting Tony that the child was in fact still alive.

May had shown up at some point, Y/n couldn’t honestly remember when, or honestly care. Not when he felt like part of himself was missing, leaving a gaping hole where Peter once was.

Good news came in the form of a doctor informing them, at hour 4 of waiting, that Peter had survived the surgery and was now stable. If it wasn’t for his healing factor, the teenager would’ve been dead. He was under sedatives currently, so his body could work solely on healing.

It felt like a weight off of everyone’s chest, he was okay, alive and breathing. The 3 walked in silence to Peter’s room, May and Y/n taking their respective sides on Peter, as Tony sat at the foot of the bed.

Hours were spent in silence, May haven fallen asleep not to long after receiving the news that Peter was okay. Tony and Y/n stayed awake, both lost in their own thoughts. The teenager held Peter’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles silently. His eyes rarely left the still form, scared that if he looked away the boy would disappear from his grasp.

“Yknow what sucks about loving a hero?” Y/n’s broken voice cut through the silence, starling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t reply, his gaze falling on the teenager. Y/n looked over at Tony and fuck that look should never be on a child. He looked so broken, so tired.

“I know he’s going to die long before me, and I’ll be stuck in this fucked up world without him.” A humorless laugh broke through the boys’ lips, it sounded watery and oh so broken. “I’m not ready to live without him Tony.” A quiet sob left his lips, his free hand going to stifle it.

“I love him so much, and it scares me so fucking bad.” Y/n’s eyes moved back over to Peter, shakily bringing the sleeping boy’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Tony felt his chest tighten painfully; this was really a reminder that they were just kids who grew up way to fast.

“He’s not going to die Y/n, not if I have anything to say about it.” Tony replied in a surprisingly gentle but determined tone. He’d be damned if he let this pair get separated, Peter and Y/n deserved to be together. To grow up together and create a life.

The room fell into silence after that, neither of them wanting to broach the topic again. In the early hours of the morning Peter’s doe like eyes opened once more. Every inch of his body ached with an indescribable pain, and he had to hold back a grimace. He was surprised to see the 3 most important people in his life strewn about the room, two fast asleep. Y/n was still awake though, clasping Peter’s hand like a lifeline has his tired eyes burned into the sheets.

Peter gave his best friends hand a gentle squeeze, but it was enough for the boy’s head to shoot up so fast Peter was scared he’d get whiplash. “Peter! Oh, thank God.” The H/c haired boy breathed out, and even through his eyes were red and puffy from tears and purple bags so dark they looked like bruises bloomed under his eyes, he was still the most gorgeous creature Peter had ever seen.

Peter gave a weak smile, squeezing his hand once more. “How long have I been out?” He questioned; head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “About 12 hours.” Y/n replied, voice cracking slightly.

The gentle aura Y/n held around him quickly disappeared into one of anger. “If you ever do that to me again Peter I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” Y/n spit out angrily, but the anger was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“I thought you died, and that was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I love you, and I’d rather you be with the land of the living.” The confession was made by a boy to tired to process he had said it.

Peter felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the boy’s confession. He knew now wasn’t the time to talk on the subject. “I’m okay N/n and trust me I won’t be doing that again any time soon. Why don’t we sleep and talk again in the morning?”

Peter was exhausted, and he knew his best friend was too, they could talk about this at a later date. As Y/n made a sound of agreement, laying his head against the mattress, Peter knew that everything would be okay. It didn’t matter what horrors he faced, or what pain he went through. He had made a promise to Y/n. He’d get up every time, and he’d be damned if he ever made the Boy he loved go through that pain again.

[redjaybathood]

Ohoho I always said that BatJokes is a cursed pairing (forgive me shippers)

but bruce is teaming up with joker to take someone down who's even - in his perception - worse

And joker - not so bad, when he's not going around killing people

And, you know, some people even find him charming

And, you know, they make a good team. What if Joker's tendencies could be... Directed to better avenues? A psychopath catching psychopaths, a killer going after killers. Not killing them, mind (but honestly, for a sadist, not killing people may be even better). But, you know.

Thing is. Thing is.

They teamed up to go after Red Hood.

Red Hood had quickly and ruthlessly taken over Gotham and rules it without mercy. Drug dealers, sex trade and protection racket is under his purview. Those who break the rules (mainly concerning children or unwilling participants and introducing drugs to sex workers as a method of control) die. For everything else, he works in cooperation with some other rogues. Heists, robberies? Catwoman. Money laundering? Penguin. Contraband and car theft? Two-Face. Cybercrime? Riddler. Fraud is mainly free for all. There are applications, licenses, you have to submit a plan before doing crime in Gotham, unless you want to be dead or left, beaten and tied up, at a police precinct. And, it's safer for criminals to work organized. There's less infighting after the initial period, there's a know-how on evading Bats. Penguin tried, back in the day, something like that, but there were not a lot of people who supported him, and there were more people who ignored him. And with Red Hood, sure, there are frustrating things like: if you plan to kill someone during a robbery, you have to prove that your plan really needs it. And if your plan doesn't really need it? (And it never does) you better believe you won't be allowed to go through. And, if you messed up and killed someone anyway? You better go confess at the station yourself. It's tyrannical, that's what it is.

A lot of people switching to civilian jobs. Bruce, trying to save criminals, give them an out, outside of Red Hood draconian rule, creates charities, housing projects, jobs, funds education, child care, medical care, programs for addicts, therapy. Awareness campaigns. Buys prisons and sponsors Blackgate so there's no prison slavery and, the stuff that was produced in prisons now produced outside of it and they hire people who were released and pay them living wage. It reduces crime more successfully than Red Hood's capital punishment for any transgression.

Because, in the end: it becomes easier not to break the law and still have enough to live.

(Bruce, though, from a billionaire becomes a multimillionaire)

But it's not a panacea and a lot of people are still commiting crime and become Red Hood victims if they put a toe over the line.

So Red Hood needs to go. And Bruce can't catch him, not alone! (And sure as hell he is not allowing his kids near Red Hood; once, Robin happened by him by chance, and he got shot in the stomach; he is alive but that was still too close for Batman's liking; Hood needs to go)

And Joker just the guy to help him.

And, let me remind you, they work great together. They dismantle Red Hood's operations, they turn his allies against him. They also... Have fun? Flirt? Bruce doesn't know, but Joker does seem a changed man, a man who can do good... Maybe...

Finally, the confrontation. Red Hood, at this point, is alone and hunted not only by them but by the whole city. In the fight, Red Hood is severely beaten up but still keeps up. He gets Joker. He puts a knife to Joker's neck and he slides his gun on the floor to Batman.

"It's armor-piercing bullets, old man. If you want to stop me, you shoot me right in the head - or you shoot right through your pal here. Or I take him with me, as a precaution."

"Come on," Joker says. "If you wanted to be alone with me, you should have just asked. Oh, but buy me a dinner first!"

"Changed my mind," deadpans Red Hood. "You either shoot me dead or I mute him for good, cannot stand his yapping."

And Bruce - he cannot use batarangs, the guy has his helmet on. It could be pierced with armor-piercing bullets at this range, but not by the batarangs.

And to make the choice - not easier, but quicker, Red Hood also triggers the bomb.

What can Bruce do? He shoots Red Hood. He and Joker disarm the bomb. Bruce needs help because he's - he just killed someone, or shot someone, at least, it's not like he tries to check. He is throwing up. He is in shock. So it's mainly Joker who disarms the bomb.

There's a water bottle, and a warm hand on Bruce's shoulder, and then they're in a car, going somewhere. There's a kiss.

There's a body in the morgue. Its DNA or fingerprints are in no database Bruce has access to. Even his own. He checked. Several times. Because this man - this man Batman and Joker teamed up to stop - he looks awfully like Willis Todd. Like Jason would have looked, if he didn't die, or suffered from child malnutrition. Or if he dyed his hair white, just on the fringe, just a little.

But, Jason Todd's DNA or teeth or fingerprints or photo of his ears, even - it's not on file anymore. It has been deleted for some time, even before Red Hood appeared in Gotham.

Jason's body disappeared from the grave too. Bruce suspects Talia. But she never contacts him. Even as some old friends reappear in Gotham again: Freeze, Bane, Scarecrow, some of Ra's' people - she never does.

Joker disappears too.

A year from that day, he gets a present in the mail. Well, it's packaged like that, in any case.

He eyes the address (Metropolis) and expects to find a note with some aggrandizing and romantic bullshit.

He does not.

He opens the package. It's Joker's head. It's not pretty.

This is the last time he hears from Talia.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time- Ch 3

Whew! almost 3000 words later, here we are! 

After extracting herself from her grandmother’s hug, she giggled and turned to make sure her parents were ok with her leaving the counter. After getting the approving nod from her mother who moved to fill her spot, Marinette skipped around to guide her Nona upstairs. The elderly woman laughed before tugging on her granddaughter’s arm to stop the over excited teen. “before we go and talk, my Fairy, I want you to meet someone. He was just going to put the up-” the bell rang again as Gina spoke, and when the duo looked over, Marinette froze. The smile that had been floating on her face sliding off in shock as a face came into view she hadn’t seen in 11 years.

“Jason?”

The room seemed to freeze at Marinette’s question, the crack in her voice pulling her parent’s attention. The man entering the building zeroed in on her, his eyes widening as he looked to where his name had been called. “Marinette.” He breathed her name before striding towards the small girl and pulling her into a tight hug. The teen clung to him in return, shaking as she was enveloped in her older brother’s arms for the first time in years.

“Are- Are you. This isn’t.”

“No, Mari, this isn’t a dream. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” A sob crawled its way up the teen’s throat as she buried her face in her brother’s shirt. From somewhere outside of their little world, the girl could her someone calling her name. Someone was trying to get her attention. Jason poked her in the side, obviously concerned. “do you want to answer them or should I?” when she looked up at him confused, her older brother sighed before smiling down at her. “I’ll take care of it.”

When Marinette finally started to tune back into the world around her, they were upstairs. When she looked around, she realized that it wasn’t late afternoon anymore, but it was mid-evening. The lights outside the window glowed in the darkness, and a light rain falling. Shaking her head, Marinette forced herself to focus on what was going on in the small sitting room of the apartment. Jason was still next to her, and Gina was perched on the side of the chair opposite them. Her parents were sitting on the couch, looking at her in concern. “I…. what did I miss?” Her father’s laugh made the embarrassed teen look up.

“Oh, little flower.” The fondness in his voice led to Marinette looking up. He made a face at hat that she returned, before the two started to laugh. Her mother elbowed him, before smiling at her.

“Welcome back, dear. Don’t worry, there weren’t too many stories making their rounds.” The girl flushed before turning back to her brother.

“what did you- “

“Don’t worry, Mari. I didn’t tell them any of the good stories. I just filled them in. It’s not every day that a strange guy comes in and starts hugging their kid.” She scowled at him before nodding.

“ok.”

“Marinette, why didn’t you ever tell us about Jason? If we had known…” The siblings cringed.

“I… um.”

“She got caught. At the time Marinette didn’t know where I was because I was trying to get her out without the police or social workers figuring it out.” Tom froze, confusion obvious on his face.

“what do you mean, Caught?” Jason glanced at his sister, surprised.

“you didn’t tell them?” the teen shrugged.

“I didn’t think that it was important once I got here. Jason, you know what it was like. Why would I want to relive it once I was away? It…it was like a fairy tale. Well,” here the girl flushed. “Once I stopped trying to run away and board a plane. Something about that made them kinda frustrated.” Her older brother threw his head back and laughed.

“only you Mari. Only you would try to sneak on a transatlantic flight.” He studied her. “how far did you get?” the girl smiled devilishly. “they were taxiing for takeoff before they realized that there was something wrong.” He snorted before holding his hand out for a high-five.

“nice.” The Dupain-Cheng couple gaped at the duo in shock while Gina laughed.

“you- you. Why is that. She could have been hurt!” Jason raised an eyebrow at that.

“Mr. Dupain, have you ever seen Mari in action? If she was going to get hurt, she would have gotten off or taken care of the threat.”

“I-she CAN?” the girl laughed.

“Papa, you have to remember how tame Paris is compared to Gotham. I don’t have the need for many of the skills I picked up while I was a kid. Plus,” here the girl sent her brother a side eye glare. “I felt safe here. And I kept an eye on Jason. I have an ongoing hack of the GCPD.” Jason froze before whipping around to gape at her.

“YOU WHAT.” The look of shock on her face made the girl giggle.

“I figured that if you were getting into trouble I would be able to see what was going on better that way. Of course, there is that other hacker…they keep pushing me out. But its fine. Whoever Oracle is, they are always a step behind.” Jason gapped at her.

“Mari. You’re out hacking Oracle? She-Uh THEY are legendary! It’s said that she helps the Bats!” The teen sniggered at his response.

“then they need a new hacker. I’ve been out hacking them since I was 8. And if you ever meet them, you are more than welcome to tell them that. It’s a shame, really.” Jason stared at her, shocked.

“oh Mari. PLEASE don’t pick a fight with the Bats again. Or, you know, their INTERNATIONALLY FAMOUS hacker.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“wanna bet? I can win a war with them by the end of the week. And the Bats are just wimps. We’ve been over this.” Gina Dupain chose this moment to interrupt her granddaughter.

“Marinetta, what does Jason mean start a fight with Batman again?” The teen started ton invent new shades of red.

“I…may have started loudly calling Robin names and when he came to stop me I beat him in a fight. With Jason’s help, of course.” The older woman studied Jason with a knowing look that confused Marinette before she shelved the conversation for another time.

Through the din of the conversation that the five had fallen into as Jason and Marinette caught up and Gina explained how she knew Jason, cut the dinner timer. Sabine smiled and she rose to gather the plates needed for the group. As she did so, she motioned Marinette to join her. Once the two were standing over the oven as Sabine pulled out the chicken and Marinette served the rice and green beans to go with, the mother paused and looked at her daughter in worry. “Marinette, why didn’t you tell us about your brother? We could have tried to bring him over-” she was cut off by the noirette shaking her head.

“no, mama. Jason was the one to teach me to avoid CPS and the GCPD. Everything I knew? He knew and was able to do better. I was caught because I was trying to help another kid who didn’t know what they were doing and took me down with them. The only reason he got caught at all is probably because he did something incredibly stupid and daring.” The Chinese woman nodded before pulling her daughter into a hug.

“well I’m glad that we got you, even if its because of another person’s mistakes. You are the greatest blessing in your father’s and my life.” The girl ducked her head as she hugged her mother in return.

“I love you too, mama.”

At dinner, Gina regaled them with stories of her adventures with Jason. When Tom expressed his surprise at some of the things Jason had tagged along on the Gotamite laughed.

“you do know the only reason Bruce got me was because I was caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile, right?” Marinette choked, snapping to lock eyes with her mother.

“I told you he did something stupid.” The woman laughed in agreement, while Tom studied the young man in front of him.

“who did you say adopted you? A Bruce?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s resident billionaire, and the collector of lost children.” Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“This wouldn’t be the same Bruce Wayne that the entirety of the media has decided I’m either dating the son of or am the newest child of, would it?” Jason laughed.

“yup defiantly the same Bruce. To be fair, he’s been on a quiet kick with the adopting thing. We think he’s planning something. And, in my defense, the only reason I knew what was going on was Tim can into my apartment simmering in anger that the press was stalking him again.” He paused, “oh and I went to pick up one of the tabloids so that I could immortalize his shame and was met with your face.” Here he turned to Marinette. “if they hadn’t run that story, I may never have seen you again.” The watery smile that he was met with made him smile.

“let go back to the Batmobile for a moment. What were you going to do, just leave a note after taking the tires? Write a quick thanks and leave?” Sabine’s humor quickly lightened the atmosphere as everyone laughed.

“no, actually. I was going to leave a red chrysanthemum.” Jason’s response made Marinette break into giggles.

“you were going to leave my sign? Jason!” the rest of the table looked around, clearly lost. Taking pity on them, Marinette went on to explain. “the red chrysanthemum is my favorite flower. Its also one that we were able to get ahold of easily in Gotham. Jason always called me his Chrysanthemum because it means hope. He called my Chrys when we were with other kids so that I was harder to track. He literally called me his hope for years. Its also why,” here she looked her grandmother dead in the eye, “they are the symbol for my brand.” The older woman tossed her head back in a laugh.

“only you, Marinetta. Only you.

After dinner and Gina and Jason had reluctantly left for the night, the Dupain-Cheng family sat and talked together a while more before separating to move towards bed. Afterall, they did have a bakery to open in the morning. When Marinette was sure that her parents were asleep, she opened her chaise. There, buried under piles of blankets and spare fabric and next to one of her specialized embroidery machines that had been packed away to save space, was a black rectangular box with a red chrysanthemum carved into it. Breathing a sigh of relief, the teen pulled out the box and settled her hand on top of it, letting her magic seep into the wood. A moment later, the box was expanding, opening, and giving her access to the box of the Miraculous of the Chinese Zodiac. Plagg zipped to join her as she studied the jewels in front of her before settling her hand on the Bee Miraculous that she had been puzzling over for weeks. The Kwamii looked at her before he finally sighed. “kid you know what you need to do. As much as we don’t like it, the girl is a good match for Pollen. Plus, you and the Bug need a rest. Without the Bee you know that the rest of your team won’t fall into place.” She smiled at the Kwamii before looking down again.

“I know Plagg, but…what if she says no? Lady Tyche and I can only do so much, and I don’t want to open our group to someone who is going to pull an Alya. I spent months training her with Tyche before we even let her come to an attack, and she still had the audacity to believe Lila. I don’t want to bring someone else into the fold and have them flake.” The miniature cat god nodded at his chosen as she drifted for a moment, thinking about days gone by. “ok Plagg, Let’s Make Mischief!” as her transformation fell over her, Apate stretched, preparing to wander into the night. Her luminous blue eyes, catlike and glowing in the night, narrowed as she made the jump, her black boots landing on the balcony. The black suit resembled a black track jacket, with the bottom half resembling close cropped cargo pants. Her boots, while silent, had a heel, giving the petit girl a very well needed few inches. Her black hair, while long and free flowing in daily life, was now held back in a French braid. The gauntlets on her forearms glinted silver in the moonlight, and the bracers on her shins reflected the light from the streets below. Apate’s hands flexed, the reinforced gloves flashing as her claws extended. A small smile crawled over the Vigilante’s face as she scanned the ridgeline of the building across from her before she detached her baton and let herself fly away from the small bakery.

When she landed at the Tower, the cat-like Vigilante settled herself on one of the beams looking out over the night. Her eyes focused on a figure in the distance and followed it as it made it’s way closer. When the figure landed next to her, Apate grinned up at Lady Tyche. The Blonde smiled down at her more violent companion. Her braided ponytail shifted in the wind, and the dark mask made the smaller girl roll her eyes. After almost four years, the two were pretty good at reading each other. As Lady Tyche settled next to Apate, the red hero smiled. Her garnet suit shifted in the moonlight. The black reinforced areas along her shins and arms seeming to disappear into the night to the naked eye. The older miraculous wielder had been apprehensive to let Apate redesign her suit from the bight red that had black spots everywhere. Apparently, it was a Tikki staple. When Apate had shown Tyche the simple garnet suit with the black shading on her sides, and the reinforcement on her arms, the hero had changed her tune. That had been three years ago, and since then the girls had grown closer. They had realized somewhere down the line that they must be in the same grade because they had chosen names that mirrored the Greek goddesses they had been learning about. When Apate had found out the box was based off the Chinese zodiac, she had laughed to herself. By then, it had been too late to change her name to honor the origin of the box.

That evening, the two had gotten together to once again debate the idea of adding a certain Bee to their ranks. This had been a topic for almost a year and the duo were apprehensive at the thought of adding an unknown this far into their battle.

“What did Tikki say?” When Apate broke their silence, Tyche sent her a small smile. They both knew that Apate was the more anxious of the duo. There was a reason she worked better in the shadows. The idea of adding the Bee, well it was keeping her up at night.

“She was all for it. After she heard what Wayzz had said, she agreed with him. adding another holder and setting up our team is the right move.” The girls exchanged looks. Apate took a deep breath before nodding.

“Plagg and I have been talking. With our final year in Lycée ending in eight months, he agreed that we need to try ad wrap this up.” Tyche snorted.

“I don’t know about you, but I am ready to leave Paris. If I can leave for University, it would be amazing.” Apate nodded in agreement.

“does that mean we should go visit Chloé?” Tyche hesitated.

“Actually, I was thinking. I know that we have been careful, for years now, but we both know that we’re getting closer to our identities. Would, would it be ok if we-” understanding settled on Apate’s face. She thought for a moment before nodding.

“well, there isn’t a Guardian to tell us no anymore. Plus, it might be good for us.” Both girls laughed as they stood. “how about this. I have to go get the Bee anyways, so come with me, and we can do the reveal nearby. That way we can be sure its in a secluded place.” Tyche nodded as she readied her yoyo.

“which way, Kit-Cat?” Apate laughed and jumped off the tower, letting herself start the trek back to the quaint Bakery that currently was housing miniature gods.

OK! so, Apate is the greek goddess of Decit, Tyche is the greek goddess of luck. i wanted unique names. thats all. 

moving on, i’m not sure if anyone had noticed or not, but i think i’m allergic to ahving Adrien as Chat Noir. i’m debating adding him in as another Miraculous but we will see. i can’t really think of one i like for him.

yes! chrystantamums are going to play a big part in this. im goign to lear a little bit of this up too. Marinette was adoopted by the Dupain-Chengs when she was about 5. she is Jason’s half sister. she is incredably bright and i have a thing for crazy smart Mari so she skipped 2 grades and is a year away from university. she does not know Jason died yet. the time where Mari was kinda out of it, i’m useing as a plot device so that i can skip stuff. basically, Jason explains that Mari is is his little half sister and that they were out on the streets all of her early life before CPS picked her up. they share a father, not a mother. Jason is crazy protective of her.

anywhoooooo have a goodone yall, and ill see you soon wiht another chapter, probably. 

tag list- @moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan 

[marvel-m-lee]

Fire, Note books and a- kid? •Part 1 of M-Verse•

Warning! This series will include gruesome descriptions of blood, bodies etc. These may be rare but they will be graphic. (This one doesn't have much tickling but it has a⁸ little haha)

This Series is also a tickls series, so if you dont like it, sorry oof.

Fandom: Marvel

-

"CRAP" Sam yelled as he flew right under a collapsing tie beam. "Language!" The cap yelled through the intercom, they were on a mission. There had been an explosion in an old warehouse building, no one knows how it happened but once they got there the place was covered with fire and dead bodies.

They were now in the building, fighting what they believed to be ex hydra workers that went into hiding for more experiments.

Cap fought from the ground whilst Sam was trying to get some shots from above while reading looked for any potential prisoners.

"Ain't seeing nothing from RedWibg Cap, the place is about to blow, we've gotta get out" Steve had just taken out about 17- now 18 Hydra agents, throwing them in the burning flames or beating them in combat.

"Alright, have one more look around the perimeter. Nat get the Jet prepared for exit incase the place actually does blow" He yelled, fighting off the last two Hydra agents in his area, throwing one onto another knocking them into a large fire screaming.

"K, sam make sure there arent any survivors" Nat ran back to the jet and started it up, the lights turning on as it slowly began to hover over the ground.

"Will do Widow" Sam flew up above the collapsing building to get another view of the area.

"Black Widow or Natasha" A sassy voice explained down the intercom.

"Okay Spider Lady" A grunt was heard that made both Cap and Sam laugh. Sam was looking through Redwing and his own eyes and couldn't seem to spot anything. "It all seems clear" Just as he were about to fly back down though he noticed something.

A young girl, her hair stuck together with some blood, mixed with dirt and wood. Her skin covered with brown mud and small cuts, she wore a white ripped hospital gown, too no longer white- or had seemed to be in years?...

"Holy shit-"

"Language!"

"There's a kid- west bound, see if you can get her. Covered in dirt and seemingly blood, right near where the fire seemed to have started from the burnt wood scraps and dying fires around her"

"A kid? West bound? Nat how long we got left?" Steve asked, running through the flames, dodging their burns and running as fast as he could.

"Before the place explodes? From my view about 150 seconds, just over two minutes. But you're gonna need to be fast so we can all get out." Nat watched over the intercoms and the computers showing where Steve was.

"Take a left"

"What?"

"Take a left! I'm giving you the fastest route to the west bound. Keep running until you find large doors, go through them and the last one at the end should lead to the girl"

Steve stopped asking the questions and complied. It wasnt his first time saving a kid, but the closer he got, the more he saw about the place. Cages, torture chambers, training halls.

This place wasnt a good one, especially for a kid... He thought.

He found the large doors, chained shut. Before he reached them he threw his shield, breaking the locks almost instantly. He ran through, but stopped in his tracks. The room was full of blood, the sticky walls glossed over, there were bones, some shattered, some scattered. Not hundreds, probably enough for the bodies of a good couple of people though... it was gruesome. Some of the worst things he had seen in a while, probably since... well. The blip?..

How was a kid kept here? How did we not know sooner?...

The thoughts span round the super solider head, taking up more time than he would have cared for.

"Steve? What's happened why'd you stop? We've got a minute!" Nat asked, she was getting impatient, the adrenaline was rising and so were the flames, everyone felt on edge here, as soon as they stepped down something felt very wrong.

"Shit, yeah. Alright, I'm going!" Steve ran and soon found the young girl, she didn't seem too strictly harmed for being so close to the flames. And for surviving in this, this prison.

"Got her, how long have I got left?"

"45 seconds"

Steve now had the young girl over his shoulder, he was trying to run even faster than he had before. This place. Something else had been happening here.

As the 100 year old ran though, he seemed to notice the fire die down wherever he ran to, creating a simple path for him to run in. He spotted the jet, Sam was standing in the open doorway, waiting to see if cap would make it. Silently cheering him on.

"10 seconds Cap"

"Start taking off now, we'll make it."

"FUCK NO! HURRY UP MAN" Sam yelled, this time to Captain America ratger rgan through the intercoms.

Time felt like it was going in slow motion, Steve got close enough just to jump and as soon as he did the whole place behind blew up. It all went so quickly after that, Sam grabbed his hand, holding on with all his might as Steve held the young girl. Nat, quicker than ever, sped off into the sky, miles from the ground to make sure the explosion wouldn't hit them as harshly as it should have.

Steve lay on the floor, with the young girl cradled in his arms behind the shield so she wouldn't get burnt. He was staring at her, even though she was covered in- well not so flattering things, she was beautiful. Something within began stirring. Something warm, familiar...

"Holy shit my dude. We almost died!" Sam droned, going to sit down on the chairs they had.

"We usually almost die, its part of our job" Nat explained, walking in and rolling her eyes. "Nahhh, Nat even you know that place was off" Sam looked over to the spy who sighed and walked over to Steve to help him up.

"How's the kid?"

Steve stood up and pulled away the shield to show off a little girl with y/c/h hair, covered in mud and pieces of blood, tucked up into his chest, breathing gently. "Wow" Sam sighed from the back.

"She's not in as much bad of a state as I would have imagined?" Nat said, watching over the little girl. "She wasnt too close to the big fire, must have been thrown into the mud and spotty snow from the explosion." Sam suggested.

Steve just held onto the small angel in his arms. He felt as though it were only he and she in the world, that time was no longer relevant. He memorized every piece of her face, even the pieces with dirt, cuts and bruises.

Suddenly Nat snapped him out of it, "Alright, I'm going to go get Bruce over. See if she's alright. For now just but her on a bed." Steve nodded as the Spider left to go call Dr. Banner.

"We haven't got beds though?- oh fuck you man" Steve laughed at Sam, he had just pulled out a bed from the sides of the ship. "You didnt know?" He teased. He and Nat had let sam sleep on the chairs or ground for the past few years. It seemed to be a secret agreement not to tell him amongst the avengers.

"Nah man, that's cold" Steve placed the little girl down and pulled up the walls of the bed to make sure she wouldn't fall out. Watching her little breaths as Sam's words started to fade away.

"Oi you even listening to me?" Sam asked unamused sitting up and looking at the fallen solider. "She's gonna be alright Steve" Steve sighed, deep down he knew she'd be fine. But he felt something strange. Fear. Like he had just found an old journal or someone he hadn't seen for a very long time.

He sighed and stood up, walking over to the bird man who was now sitting up watching the soldiers actions. They both heard Natasha in the background talking with Bruce.

"She's gonna be alright Steve"

"I hope so..."

It was a while till they had all landed at the compound. Rogers and Wilson played some card games- dont question it, Roger's made Tony buy him loads for each mission. He enjoyed the games. He also won most of them.

Steve picked the young girl up and brought her to Bruce as the doors opened up, they lauded her down on a hospital bed and hurried off. Bruce stayed back checking in on everyone. "The mission?"

"A success as always"

Steve seemed quiet, Sam answering fir him rather than fir himself. He watched the girl be scurried along into the building.

"Did you clean all her wounds?"

"Mhm"

Steve looked down and nodded before they all began walking. He didnt mean to seem any less- well captain america-y, but he definitely had something on his mind. Bruce began to follow quickly to ask what's up.

"Hmm? Oh.. nothing. Just worried for the child" Steve tried to brush the feeling off but couldn't his gut had other plans. They wanted to see the girl, see if she was okay.

"She's gonna be alright, she only needs a few tests done- safe ones of course, blood pressure, cut cleansing etc" Bruce smiled at the much taller man. Oh god he was short. Steve smiled back to the Dr with 7 PHD's.

"Thanks Banner, I'm gonna go see Stark"

"Okay, stay safe, I'll tell you when she's improved"

Steve nodded and walked into the building, turning an opposite way to Banner and going to go see Stark. Steve was secretly very grateful Bruce would tell him about the child once she was improving. He felt a connection.

"Stark?" The 100 year old asked, knocking on the doors to the Lab.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, Open the Doors for Roger's Pleade and Thank you" The billionaire didnt move from his seat, he had been working on some new tech as usual.

"Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y" Steve walked in, still in his spandex from the mission covered in blood and dirt with little scuff marks all over from the fire flames.

"Its an 8 Code Pin Rogers"

"I know I know, I just can't seem to remember it"

Tony rolled his eyes and looked up leaning on his chair with one arm resting over the top.

"What's up?"

Steve furrowed his brows. "Hmm?"

"You, you seem... less Super, more Man"

Steve rolled his eyes, "I'm not Super Man Tony!" Tony just shrugged and chewed the side of his cheek.

"Dunno there Cap" The genius stood up and walked over to him, the man was much seemingly smaller without his heals on, just bare foot walking around. He got extremely close to the Cap and got on his tip toes leaning in. If he wanted he could have kissed the man he were so close, though they both knew it wouldn't happen, Tony just liked getting close to annoy people.

That's when the billionaire squealed and almost fell to the ground with a jump back, a light blush on his face. "Dick" Steve smirked at the man, he sure was one ticklish man, billionaire, genius who cares. He was still ticklish. Tony went to go sit back down.

"So what's up?" This time, happily keeping his distance.

"I saved a kid today"

Tony furrowed his brows and chuckled, slowly clapping his hands. "Well done soldier, you saved a kid"

"Tony im serious"

"Well I didn't really think you were lying-"

Steve stepped forward making the Billionaire loose his confidence. He never minded being tickled, but then again it didnt help his reputation being melted into a giggly mess. He was still really nervous. Steve smirked at the man but then continued.

"She was covered in dirt and bits of blood. But before I found her, I ran through a hall. It was Dark, but the raging fires lit it up. There were bones, scattered. Probably enough for a good few people, some big some small. And blood, all over the walls..."

Steve tensed up, remembering the place. "It reminded me of the war with Thanos."

Tony stayed quiet, no longer fearful of childish tickles. It seemed horrifying. Even for them. "Okay, send me the Locations, I'll get F.R.I.D.A.Y up and working on it alright?" Tony wasn't the best when it came to comforting, but he knew he could do something.

Steve looked up at him and smiled thankfully, but Tony coukd tell there was something else bothering. Yet he didn't want Steve to be too focused on it all.

"Hey, here" Tony grabbed something from within a draw, it had a captain America's shield on the front, he handed it to steve. Just a normal sketch book. And some pencils. "You're welcome to use these and sit down at the window or something while I work. Keep your mind off things.

"Thanks Tony" Steve smiled at the billionaire, he wasnt great at comforting, but he knew what Steve wanted. It was a strange friendship that's for sure.

"Look at the first page too! I did a little something" The billionaire smirked as Steve turned the book open, on the front was an IronMan helmet with a little speech bubble saying "I Am IronMan" and a little stick figure with a shield in a cage in the bottom corner saying "I stink!"

Tony burst out laughing at Steve's expression. Let's just say his laughing continued for longer than expected...

[whetstonefires]

mcu ethics bad

The thing is that, while I was angry at Tony during Age of Ultron, particularly when he rode over Bruce’s compunctions about building a giant combat super-robot and pressured him into the project like a very very bad friend who happened to also be wrong...

...and when he equipped Hulkbuster armor and fought the Hulk in the middle of a city rather than attempting de-escalation or attempting to haul the Hulk out into the giant adjacent desert....

(And my suspension of disbelief snapped like a frayed cable when he brought down a skyscraper that had had no time to be evacuated on a street full of fleeing people and the only reason we were given to believe he hadn’t just cold-bloodedly created massive civilian casualties was that he told his AI to find the impossible magic angle where doing this wouldn’t kill anyone...)

While I was angry with him then, and unspeakably relieved that he recognized his own damage and retired at the end, haha psych, I was revolted by him during Civil War.

It’s supposed to make us sympathize with a character more, spending so much time with them, getting into their heads, being shown their emotional drives and reactions to things, and we spent so much time with Tony during that film, understanding his point of view. And...I did understand him. He’s not complicated. I even sympathized with his emotional state.

But in the context of his actions, throughout the film, I gazed into that understanding the way I did into Kylo Ren’s face in the seconds after he first unmasked. I see you, I know you, everything you are is written here, and the lines of your shame and self-revulsion are so thick upon you, and you should be ashamed but your self-destruction does not expiate or justify one jot of the harm you do.

Because everything Tony did in Civil War came from a place of selfishness. He was selfish all throughout that movie down to his very spine.

And selfishness isn’t itself necessarily bad--you need a little, to get through life, you have the right to your own portion of it. Your boundaries and your needs. But the type of selfishness that is forcing other people pay dearly for your emotional comfort and sense of control: no.

That is tyranny. That is not acceptable.

And you know how I know he was being selfish? Because his motive for pushing the Sokovia Accords was his personal guilt for the destruction of Sokovia.

But the Accords didn’t address that at all! They were tangential to the issue! None of the terms of the Accords would have saved Sokovia--in fact, the existence of them could easily have prevented the evacuation and harm-reduction the Avengers managed there, without saving a single soul.

The Ultron crisis was something Tony did, not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, with Bruce Banner’s help, and which Wanda as criminal fugitive later helped exacerbate, and which all the other Avengers were involved in only to mitigate harm.

Legislation, or...treaties, idk, the UN isn’t actually empowered to pass laws so who knows what this thing was...aimed at preventing another Sokovia would mandate constant ethical oversight of billionaire science man’s mad science. At the very least! He never has to run things by ethics boards because he’s self-funded, at the very least let’s invent a mechanism to make up for that.

That would address the actual Sokovia issue, both in terms of risks and in terms of Tony’s personal guilt feelings.

But no one suggests that! It’s not even on the table! Because no one, certainly not any government, can tell Tony Stark what to do unless he lets them, that’s been a clear matter of record since Iron Man 2.

And because no one writing this legal instrument of whatever description was actually motivated by wanting to avoid another Sokovia, or even another ‘Wanda tries to neutralize a suicide bomber but merely gives him a different, smaller victim pool’ incident.

They didn’t care! They blatantly didn’t care! The entire thing was a ghoulish use of the dead to gain enough political leverage over the Avengers to put a leash on them!

(Which might not be a bad thing in principle, everything needs its checks, but when the last quasi-governmental organization you worked for turned out to be Nazis who were only prevented from staging a mass slaughter of undesireables by the skin of your teeth, I think you’re well within your rights to be very choosy about who you agree to obey, and to be firmly against pledging your honor to follow people whose first move was dishonest coercive tactics.

Actually you’re well within your rights to demand to negotiate the terms of even a much less sweeping contract, even without the Nazis. The whole approach to this thing stank to high heaven.

The fact that it was written by the UN like a treaty, expected to be signed by private individuals like a contract, and then enforced like a law except not because 1) laws are for everyone 2) if you break a law you get a trial not extrajudicial incarceration and 3) being pressured to consent to a restriction and then punished for refusing consent is hypocritical circular logic and in fact police corruption at its finest, all continues to show it was a bullshit nonsense franken-document.)

The whole movie is people ghoulishly using the dead to manipulate Tony into making bad decisions in response to his emotional pain. That’s. The plot of the film.

Then Zemo staged T’Chaka’s assassination and framed Bucky for it to raise the tension, ramp up the pressure, and prevent any sitting-down and talking reasonably through this, which might have allowed for the recognition of how extremely bullshit the entire concept was.

Tony was being used. Tony was a tool of bad people for most of that movie, and while Zemo banked on using his wrath for it, the politicos were leaning on his guilt.

And there’s honestly little I hold in deeper scorn than going out and hurting other people to assuage your own guilt and treating this as having the moral high ground. No. You don’t have the moral high ground on account of your guilt motivation. You have it if the actions you took were just, or at least could reasonably be assumed to have been so at the time.

And Tony fucking knew they weren’t. He didn’t even last to the end of the movie before recognizing that he’d been manipulated and fucked up, and doubling back.

That he then walked into a different manipulation, turned on a dime, and had to be stopped from doing a murder doesn’t unwrite that.

And it drives me nuts that people will say Tony was acting out of principle while Steve was acting out of personal attachment. Because sure, the Bucky thing was important, was the reason he was walking forward against all opposition instead of standing still to argue, but it wasn’t the reason Steve said no, while...

Tony wasn’t acting out of principle. Tony isn’t...very good at having principles. That’s not even a criticism or condemnation, it’s just how he functions. Since Iron Man he’s been substituting good intentions and emotional investment, which has worked out to varying degrees. It works best for huge, difficult, very straightforward decisions like ‘ride the nuke through the portal and save my hometown.’ It works less well for nuanced situations.

Tony was, as usual, acting out of emotion. And some awful shitheads who’d figured out where his levers were had calculated how to jiggle his emotion switches in the right places to make him do exactly what they wanted.

And you can tell he wasn’t acting out of principle because, for example, someone who was trying to get the superhero community under outside control for the sake of harm mitigation...

...well, firstly wouldn’t have chosen to stage a massive battle? But it’s possible someone in the UN specifically told him to do that, and in theory they at the very least signed off on it, presumably for its PR value of making Captain America look deranged and violent since it’s a deranged decision from every other angle, so yay, he can pass that responsibility up the chain and not have to angst about it, as promised.

But I was going to say would not have approached a minor who (this timeline takes pains to show us) had no prior experience of battle or even, somehow, serious violent crime, to recruit him to go be a government child soldier on another continent, without his guardian’s knowledge or consent. There were overtones of blackmail in Tony’s approach, before it turned out Peter was such a big fan he didn’t need that. What the fuck frankly.

That is not the action of someone who wants to start doing things by the letter, scaling the violence down, keeping within the law and putting the power of decisionmaking in other people’s hands because he’s realized he can’t trust his own.

And frankly even if he did act like that I wouldn’t necessarily support his choices, in particular his snap decision to behave coercively toward other Avengers with vastly less social power and security than he has.

And that’s the other thing! Everything about ‘Tony + Accords BFFs’ rings so hollow because he has never thought rules applied to him, and he knows perfectly well the entire time he’s fighting to force this surrender of agency down other people’s throats that he is going to be practically immune.

This man was technically a terrorist, proabably the most prolific single terrorist in world history until his rogue android exceeded his body count, but he was immune to prosecution because he was in tight with the United States military-industrial complex and basically untouchable due to his status within capitalism, and pursuing their international goals anyway. In the time between Iron Man and Iron Man II he was basically a one-man upgrade of the US drone program, and so good at it that the crest of blood he carved through the Middle East allowed him to announce he had ‘privatized world peace.’

(You are never going to get a world peace worth anything on the basis of a giant flying gun, okay.)

He went to war as a private individual, against non-state actors who were not directly threatening him, which is very much defined as ‘mass murder’ in all domestic and international law, and the US army in response sued him for control of his weapon. And lost! Lost.

No one attempted to press charges. No one. Because Tony Stark is above all that. And he knows it.

And like. I’m willing to accept the mass murder under the heading of ‘superheroing’ within the terms of this setting! Even if, after his vengeance rampage on his specific kidnappers, this violence was kept strictly off-screen for a reason. I did that! I bent that far! Genre convention!

But this history is kind of vitally important to any analysis of what he thought he was doing, and what he actually was doing, when he decided to become the iron gauntlet of the Sokovia Accords.

The currently active member of the Avengers who needed muzzling most was very manifestly Iron Man, and he knew even as he jammed the muzzle on all his comrades to make himself feel better that it would affect him the least, even if he didn’t finally retire for real this time. You don’t force Tony Stark. Not if you want anything out of it but blown up. You persuade him.

And once you have...oh, look at what he can do.

[certifiedskywalker]

Hear Me Out - Diego Hargreeves

Anonymous said: Could you do a fic where the reader is number 8 and they and Diego have something going on like Alison and Luther. Maybe the reader doesn’t realize it

(Sorry that this is sooo long, I guess it could be considered a slow burn??? In a one shot??? I dunno. I hope you like it!)

Reginald Hargreeves was not the only person that had taken an interest in the spontaneous births that racked the planet on that fateful day in 1989; but he was the only billionaire which was why William Whackerman could only collect one child. He was in his seventies when he ‘adopted’ you and a heavy smoker. Despite his less than glamorous health habits, Mr. Whackerman, as he entreated you called him, maintained his fatherly figure for the next seventeen years of your life. Which compared to the years that followed, were quite content.

After Mr. Whackerman’s death, a sudden but not-so-shocking heart attack, you were sent to a special school. Only, the Umbrella Academy wasn’t just simply a school. It was also a messed up, backwards excuse of a family. Reginald was only present during missions and paid little mind to you, his ‘new number eight’, for your powers had not been hardened by training his own children had been forced to endure. 

He simply stapled you on the end of the numerical order and left you with Vanya. Although, you didn’t quite mind the quiet girl’s company. She told you about Fives, how Father hadn’t been quite the same after he had vanished, but also talked to you about books and art; things to find hope in that Mr. Whackerman had neglected to foster. Through the next years of your life, Vanya had become a steady river of companionship; her and Diego. The prized knife slinging, living weapon of Reginald’s little army had taken an interest in you from the moment you had arrived.

While he didn’t talk much, which was due to a stutter you had learned about by accident. You had walked into his room when you were still finding your way around the monstrously large house. He had been standing before a mirror, eyes locked with his reflection’s as he stuttered out a sentence full of ‘ms’ and ‘ws’. He had been so angry and caught off guard when you saw him that he was shocked into silence.

“It’s okay, Number Two,” you still hadn’t been properly introduced as Grace was out of commission for repairs, “just take it slow. You’ll find the words.”

 You had stayed with him until he broke the silence. “It’s Diego. M-My name is Diego.”

And that had been the start of it all. At meals, you sat yourself between Diego and Vanya to enjoy the horribly daunting quiet. Even with no words exchanged, a silent knocking of sneakered feet against each other told Diego you enjoyed his company and vice versa. Despite being in your teen years, your relationship had been so juvenile; never once had it stepped over childish affection. 

Diego would parade his growing collection of knives, how to aim just right but too nervous to get too close to show you how. Granted, your powers lacked the refinement and accuracy of Diego’s so many knives had clinked to the stone ground of the courtyard. With pink cheeks, he would always tell you that you did well.

Some nights, you would both camp out in the courtyard, peer up at the stars at you traded dreams like sweets in the darkness. You swore never to use your powers on Diego unless he told you that you could.

“W-What can you do?” You shifted beside him, turning to keep your eyes off of him.

“If I stare at you long enough, I can hear your thoughts. But I have to stare for a while which is why your dad won’t let me go with you on missions.” Diego must have sensed your disappointment for he had been quick to console you.

“Missions aren’t that fun anyway,” a lie, you both knew it, “plus it’s a sibling thing.” You remember smiling and knocking your shoulder against Diego’s. Even at seventeen he had been muscular and barely moved at the contact.

“I’m not your sibling?” You teasing had made Diego shift at your side as your teasing made him uncomfortable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to press, I-I-”

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Diego had murmured but you could see with ease the dejected look in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re not really a sibling ...Father...being his child isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Allison makes it work, with the magazines...I-I...can’t.”

You knew better than to press Diego and instead, you stayed at his side until the sun rose. Pogo had wandered out by then, water can in hand to tend to the flowers. He found you and Diego asleep, slumped against one another like rag dolls. The smiling chimp woke you both, sent you off to your rooms where you silently exchanged more chit-chat.

Outside of superpowered abilities and late night conversations, the two of you would communicate through the shared walls of your room through a secret language of knocks. Throwing an eighth child into the mix had disturbed any sense of order maintained by Reginald and with Klaus growing wilder by the day, it seemed the man had given up on some of his children; this included the systematic arrangement of rooms. In those sweet days, two and eight were neighbors, just like one and three. 

But like everything good, it came to an end. Although, you figured you had brought the end with you. The older you and the rest got, the harder Reginald tried to choke out your freedom. After Ben died, Klaus left to go...somewhere. No one was quite sure where but one day you all woke up and he was gone. Then Vanya, as soon as she got into college, she left and begged for you to come with. 

“What about the others?” Vanya had frowned then, tears had spilled down her cheeks. The Umbrella Academy had never been home for her, for you it barely sufficed. Yet you had found some solace in the patchwork family that had taken you in and chose to stand behind with a promise you would join Vanya when you felt ready to leave.

 That time came far more swiftly than you had expected. On that very night, you wandered through the house in search of Diego. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him behind. Although it seemed that Diego hadn’t felt the same way. 

When you stepped into the den, Diego was nowhere in sight. Grace had been idle in the kitchen, sat at the table with a cross stitch uncompleted in her grasp.

“Where’s Diego? Grace?” The blonde android, the mother of the child you had grown to call you closest friends. Beady, loving eyes met your gaze with a cherry-red smile.

“My little bird has left the nest,” she said and you noted how her programmed grin fell for the slightest second. “He’s gone.”

“You mean he’s just out, right? He’s no-”

“He left,” Grace said, the mechanics under the synthetic skin stalled, which gave her lips an almost human quiver. You felt your own resolve as it dropped and wet tears fell down the slopes of your cheeks. The memory of Grace reaching out and you pulling away was stuck in your mind as you packed your belongings. No there was nothing keeping you there.

So you left that next morning, bid Grace and Pogo ado with tight hugs. If the android woman hadn’t been programmed to smile, you would have sworn her lips were not as upturned as they were normally.

“Do promise you’ll visit and bring Miss Vanya back with you,” Pogo entreated, beady brown eyes pleading. You grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze with your silence. Pogo seemed to understand the quiet exchange and you gave the foyer of the Umbrella Academy one last look. Up the stairs on the landing, you made out the silhouette of Reginald watching on but not daring to give you a proper farewell.

Your childhood with Mr. Whackerman and your teenage years spent with the Hargreeves somehow even out your feelings on family. Living with Vanya also helped in that respect. You helped make ends meet between shifts at a local cafe and Vanya’s orchestra work. When she decided to publish her autobiography, you were both content; despite the pages of her writing adding a final flourish to an end of a peaceful chapter.

“He’s dead,” Vanya said, prompting you to look up from the table wedged between the living room and kitchen. With a furrowed brow you peered at her with her soaked hair and drenched clothes. The case of her volin hung loosely in her hand, droplets of rain still rolling off of the side.

“What? Who?” You stood up from your seat and closed your book. Vanya’s already dark brown eyes resembled shadows, glancing slowly around your face. Moth-like, Vanya’s limbs fluttered inside the apartment, the door still open behind her as she wandered in towards the light. The lines in her face were more defined as were the tear trails on her moistened cheeks.

“My father...”

It had been nearly a decade since either you or Vanya had stepped foot inside the Umbrella Academy. The brick building loomed, more nightmarish now than in your own childhood. Vanya stood at your side, small hands curled into tight fists. She too was feeling the whirlwind of emotions that had swept you along as well. 

“It’s alright,” you said, but Vanya’s gaze remained trained on the door. “You took your medication today right?” 

Vanya nodded in response and it seemed that the mention of her routine grounded her enough to speak. “I don’t think it’s going to help much though.”

“We won’t ever know if we don’t go inside,” you pointed out. The reality of your words pulled Vanya’s eyes to yours. “You ready?”

“No,” she replied and stepped forward to open the door. 

The grand entrance hall was wholly unchanged. Looming statues that resembled more gargoyles than any other loving beast were the first faces to greet you. Persian rugs laid under a centerpiece table that held flowers, ones cared for by Pogo evident by the crispy, vibrant petals. The same chill that had rolled over your shoulders when you first moved in to the academy gripped you then with boney fingers tight. If the place wasn’t haunted before, you were certain Reginald wandered about the hallways now. 

“Is it me or does it-”

“Vanya? Y/N?”

The voice, while odd having not heard it in so long, comforted you in some irrational way. Spinning on your toes you turned to meet the mournful gaze of Allison as she stepped towards you. Her curls cascaded perfectly over her shoulders in the way that, when you were teenagers, never failed to strike you with awe. 

“Hi,” Vanya greeted, breaking the slight silence that had gathered. She stepped towards Allison and fell into what, from your eyes, seemed like a strained sibling hug. Part of you was glad your father, Mr. Whackerman, had only adopted you out of the forty-three children born. The thought of having such a stiff family relationship set you on edge.

“It’s so great to see you,” Allison said as she pulled away from the half-hearted embrace. When her eyes found yours she added, “to see you both.”

“I’m sorry, for your loss,” you said and tried out a bittersweet smile on the girl labelled ‘number three’. She returned the gesture and sighed.

“Father would be happy to see you here, Y/N,” she turned back to Vanya, “and you.” You bit the inside of your lip to keep from scowling. You knew that Allison was trying to be kind but to lie so obviously made you want to cringe. Vanya, ever stoic, remained silent. “I think Klaus is here if you want to-”

“She shouldn’t be here.” A low, gravelly voice interjected followed by the sound of heavy boots clunking down the stairs. “She should-”

The repeated message with the same eerily cold sentiment was cut short. A familiar pair of dark brown eyes landed on your form and you swore it was as if you and Klaus had traded powers. The dead memories of the Diego you knew danced before you, bleed into your mind like a freshly opened wound. 

Scars on his face showed his age more than even the slight bags under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t sleep soundly in a year, only napping for a few minutes here and there to keep himself afloat. Even with the stumbling step Diego took in your direction, he moved as a shadow; all dark and watchful with the eyes to match. Despite everything, he was still the Diego you had known when you were younger. 

If you had stared into his eyes any longer, you were certain his thoughts would fold open like the pages of the book that had driven the wedge further between you.

“Diego,” Allison’s voice cut through the tension that had amassed suddenly in the room. “Be nice, please.” His brown eyes pulled away from your gaze to glance at his sisters. Vanya didn’t dare to make contact with him. Her book had turned Diego’s feeling sore. 

“She shouldn’t be here,” he said again, not as harshly this time. He turned to hold your gaze once more and you swallowed hard. “Not after everything.”

With that, the boy turned man ascended the stairs to the upper level of the mansion. You watched him go, wondering what would have happened if you had found him before he left all those years ago. The thought normally made you bitter, angry because friends don’t leave each other behind; but watching him leave again made your heart ache with some horrible sadness.

“He’ll come around,” Allison’s voice once again broke through the silence. “Y/N, you should try talking to him. Diego was closer to you than any of his siblings, any of us.”

“He doesn’t seem in the talking mood,” you countered. Allison’s frown deepened and she nodded in agreement. 

“Where...Where’s Pogo?” Vanya asked, mouse like features darted around in search for the kind, ape butler. 

“He’s…..around,” Allison raised her hand and referenced the entire building, “I’ll go to find him. I’ll be right back.” Her heels clacked against the wooden floors, leaving you and Vanya in her wake. You spared a glance at the brown haired girl who was wandering into the family room, the sliding door pushed aside. 

Aside from new, antique looking furniture, the room felt unchanged. The beady eyes of mounted animals, prizes from Reginald’s many hunting expeditions, watchful as every, seemed to study you as you and Vanya stepped inside. A lifeless fireplace loomed beside a vast wall of book shelves that pulled Vanya to them almost instantly. The pages, magnets really, coaxed Vanya’s metallic eyes to one book in particular. 

“You gave him a copy?” You leaned over and caught sight of Vanya’s own book in her hands. Vanya’s lips parted with a readied reply when the padding of feet hit your ears.

“Miss Vanya, Y/N, how good it is to see you both.” Pogo gave you both a chimp smile before hugging Vanya then yourself. “I see you found your book.”

“Did...did he ever read it?” You heart broke at Vanya’s question and even more so at Pogo’s answer.

“To the best of my knowledge, I fear not,” he rested a soothing hand on Vanya’s arm. “He loved you, in your own way. You too, Y/N.” You couldn’t help but scoff. Not being in the original seven had given you an outside perspective.

“He hardly knew my name, except my last one,” you quipped sharply. Pogo gave you a saddened smile. Nothing said to him seemed to hurt him and you instantly felt guilty about your tone. 

“Yes, Y/N Whackerman,” Pogo turned and squeezed your hand. “Different names do not change the effect you had on the Hargreeves family. He loved you all.

“Like you said,” you frowned, “in his own way.”

“And that’s the problem,” Vanya murmured. At a loss of what to say, Pogo hung his head quietly. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was going to do now. Stay and look after the house? Move out, and if so, where? Reginald had never talked about back up plans; the man thought he was immortal. 

“You know, Diego suffers from this same idea,” Pogo explained, “perhaps you can find solace in one another during this time.” You felt your jaw clench while Vanya gave the butler a weary look. “I know he would enjoy speaking to you, Y/N. The two of you were close.”

“Well, we’re not kids anymore,” you replied lowly. 

“That may be true, however, like I said, you had a deep effect on him, this family. Have faith in yourself.” Pogo’s words left a sour taste on your tongue. One that reeked of rotten regret and bitter grief. You could have reached out, made plans with Diego, any of the siblings really, but you hadn’t. Instead you let yourself be hurt by Diego’s wordless, goodbye-less departure, and only spoke to Vanya. Your powers fell into disuse and you feelings numbed.

Vanya went back to pursuing the array of volumes and novels on the shelves when Pogo trailed off, out the room to address a stumbling sound that sounded too much like Klaus to be good. The stuffiness of the family room, if you could even call it that, drove you back into the foyer. Your feet developed minds of their own as they guided you up the dark oak stairs. Fingertips trailing along the polished handrail, you could remember the speck of  hope that had swelled in your gut when you first arrived at the academy.

That seed had bloomed with wilted leaves and lackluster colored petals. The only ray of sunshine you saw was Vanya’s company and Diego’s friendship. You had to learn to grow without the latter. Never once did you think about returning, only in your nightmares, but here you were. After you trudged up the steep stairs, you found yourself in the hallway that defined your last few adolescent years. 

The first room on your right, the one that had been yours, was shut tight. You and the rest of the kids in the academy had switched rooms so many times that you were surprised when you could remember which door led to who. Across the hall’s creaky floor boards lied Vanya’s door and horribly cramped living space; it would be evil to consider it a bedroom. 

“Well, long time no see.” You barely heard Klaus over the noisy wooden floors but the sass was unmistakable. You turned to see him, taller than you remember with a rather eclectic manner of dress. 

“Yeah, it has been,” Klaus smiled and opened his arms. You met him in the middle in a tight hug, one that was rarely shared in your youth. “How have you been, Klaus?”

“Oh, you know,” Klaus pulled away with a lazy grin, “fantastic. Daddy’s dead!” He raised his hand in a partying gesture and coaxed a slight smile to your lips. 

“Morbid much?” Klaus only shook his head and dismissed the question.

“I am the one that sees dead people,” he teased as he started to walk past you, “Diego’s around here, by the way.” You turned to meet his green eyes and Klaus wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Just thought you would want to know.”

In silence, Klaus disappeared down the hall and soon, out of sight. Swallowing hard, you turned and looked down towards the rest of the doors. It was eerily quiet, all the way down to Luther and Allison’s bedroom doors. With you lips pressed tightly together, you continued down the hall. That was, until, you noticed Diego’s bedroom door slightly ajar. A childish curiosity drove you towards it and it felt like you were falling into an old habit.

Your breath caught and heart thundered in your chest at the sight. Notches in the walls where, in anger, Diego had flung knives. You had witnessed many of them firsthand, late at night while Diego ranted about his father’s training. The distant memories seemed so close now as you traced your fingers along the divets. They were the only things in the stark room that still held hints of Diego.

Despite the open door, it seemed that Diego hadn’t stopped in to relive the times you were both close. You, on the other hand, lingered. You sat on the edge of his bed which had been stripped of the dark sheets he used to like. The bare mattress was far from comfortable, but you leaned back anyway. Your body bounced slightly, the top of your head brushing against the head board. A smile spread across your lips at an echo of a memory.

To give voice to it, you lifted a hand that curled into a slight fist. Gently, you rapped your knuckles against the wall. A dull knock sounded, requocheted through the room and filled your ears with a strange sense of emptiness. Long nights of back and forth with Diego, communicating solely through thuds on the shared wall.

Another knock echoed, replying to your greeting so quickly that it shocked you. You sat up in the uncovered bed with a shocked jolt. Staring at the wall, you waited. After a minute of silence, the same knock repeated with an added question. Are you still there?

Quietly as you could, you wandered out of Diego’s old room and back out into the hallway. Your bedroom door was still closed but, after a pregnant pause, you pushed it open. Blank walls greeted you with empty stares just as Diego’s darkness filled the room. He laid on the bed, only to sit up to face you as you entered. 

“Guess we still know the code,” he quipped and you felt your heart twinge. 

“I guess so,” you murmured in reply. Your eyes never left Diego as he shifted against your old bed. The temptation to stare, to read this thoughts rushed over you like a wave. Luckily you broke through the surface and tore your eyes away; only for a moment though. Black, long sleeved shirt and pants obscured most of him, but as you studied him, you realized something else entirely. “Are you bleeding?”

“What?” “Is that blood?” Taking a step towards him, you gestured to his side. Diego’s shirt clung tightly to his abdomen, visibly damp. His dark eyes flicked from you to to his side and back again.

“N-no.” The stutter would have been endearing, to some part of you it was, but fear rose up in your throat to choke it out. Without a word, you stepped towards him. Diego jerked back from your extended hand and reaching fingers. “Y/N.” 

“Just stop,” you snapped and it seemed to shut him up. Carefully, your crooked your fingers up and hiked up the hem of his black shirt. The wet peeling sound the fabric made as you pulled it up from his flesh made your skin crawl. A gash on his side, too blunt to be from a knife, was carved under his shirt. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a graze.”

You gave him a wild look, “you’re fine? Bleeding isn’t fine.” Diego let out a huff in response and you let the fabric fall back into place.

“I’ll get Pogo to take a look at it,” you said, starting towards the door.

“Don’t, Y/N, I got it. I’m fine.” He stood up, apparently too quickly as he winced, his eyes squeezed shut to stifle the pain. 

“Yeah, sure,” you grumbled, “you’ve never been good at lying.”

“Then see the truth.” Just as your hand reached for the door knob, Diego’s words sunk in. That current of your powers seemed to sweep you under the water of temptation, swirled you around until your eyes found Diego’s. He stood straight, stiff, as he stared into your eyes. 

“Diego-”

“You said that you wouldn’t, I’m saying that you can. Do it.” You averted your eyes to the floor to hide your intrigue.

“Don’t be such a child,” you whispered before looking up at Diego once more. “Just let me help you, okay?”

“I’ve never been good at lying, like you said, or talking. That includes asking ...asking for help. You know that.” You furrowed your brows and shook your head.

“That’s your problem,” you replied, “I’m not going to read your thoughts and fix it.” Diego took a step towards you and you felt your heart begin to race. You hadn’t looked away from him and specks of his thoughts were already filling your mind.

“I’m not telling you to fix m-me,” Diego mumbled, “I’m asking to you hear me out, listen to the things I can’t explain.” The streak of honesty that stemmed from Diego shocked you but not as much as the thoughts from his mind that were filtering into your own. 

“You’re hurting,” you murmured and Diego seemed taken aback. “You side...it’s not that. Something else.” Images of you as a child raced by your head, the rest of the Hargreeves siblings, then you again. Smiles, laughing, Diego stuttering in front of his mirror.

“Y/N,” his child voice echoed within the remembered thought, “I-I love y-you.” Then your face again, through a window talking to grace. The sound of rain pattering, the night Diego left he had hesitated on the doorstep to the academy. Regret, you felt his regret so strongly. It was then you forced yourself to tear your eyes away from Diego. 

You stared at the floor and waited for your own thoughts to return to you. As Diego’s feelings and thoughts bled away, you managed to look up. His dark eyes were wide, jaw clenched tightly as he lips pressed into a firm line. 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“Keep looking,” he pressed and you shook your head.

“No, I need you to tell me.” Diego groaned at your persistence and stared at you, visibly displeased.

“I’m not good at talking,” Diego reiterated, “you know that. I...knew if I went back to talk to you I would never leave. I would have stayed here, with you, gone anywhere and…”

“I wasn’t going to stay,” you slipped in as Diego trailed off, “I wanted you to come with me.” Diego met your gaze and you saw the sadness there.

“But would you have loved me like I love you?”

It was a question you knew the answer to. You had known it since you were young and thought things could be perfect. Those nights when you and Diego would stay awake for hours on end talking, you could feel the truth. You were just so young and confused and every relationship you had ever had was for your powers alone. Yet this was the first time Diego had ever asked you to use your powers. He was not Mr. Whackerman or Reginald Hargreeves; Diego was good, not perfect but good.

“Yes, I would have. I can,” you rephrase and you saw something in Diego snap. Some twig part of him broke into splinters into your hands as he stepped towards you one more time. There was less than a foot of space between you and you reached a hand for his. 

“I wish I could read your mind,” Diego said and you felt your heartache a little. 

“You don’t have to,” you murmured and gave his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to, you know.” Diego’s knitted brows relaxed and he leaned down gently. The tip of his nose brushed against yours lightly, tantalizingly close. You could feel the pressure mounting, the feeling of his lips a thought away when there was a knocking at the door.

“Diego? Have you found dad’s-oh! Y/N, hi. I didn’t know you were here.” Diego sighed heavily and his head dropped when you turned to face Luther in the doorway. He was broader, shoulders larger than you remembered.

“Hi, Luther,” you greeted with a tone that read clear with annoyance. As always, Luther seemed to be above that and continued on.

“We’re going to meet in the family room downstairs soon. Diego, can you come to dad’s room with me?” You looked to Diego at Luther’s question and saw dejection in his features. 

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I’ll be there in a second.” Luther nodded and ducked back out into the hallway. Diego grumbled and you smiled at him softly. 

“Go,” you squeezed his hand once more, “he won’t stop unless you go.” Diego frowns and lets go of your hand. “Make sure to get Pogo to check your side, alright?” Diego rolled his eyes and you shook your head.

“We’ll talk later?” He asked as he pushed open the door of your old bedroom. 

“Yes,” you replied and Diego nodded. You could have sworn that he smiled but he was gone too fast for you to be certain. Diego wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was good; and that was good enough for you.

[milstrim]

All That Mattered

Day 31: Left for Dead

It was cold, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter in the harshly cold bunker where he lay, still hunched, his suit sparking and fritzing. He didn't know how long he'd been there, burn marks on the wall and a broken shield glinting in front of him, but he didn't really care much. Because Steve had known. Steve had known that Barnes had killed his mom. He'd known and he hadn't told him. He'd known and he'd defended Barnes. Tony and Steve had never been the closest of friends, but after everything...

The broken hero closed his eyes in distress, grimacing at the pain. He needed to get home, but a quick glance at his arc reactor proved just how difficult that would be. Thank Odin or whatever he'd had that surgery, or else he'd be dead already, but his suit definitely wasn't going to be working anytime soon. If he could ever get up, he was sure he could fix it and fly home, that was, if he could ever get up. His bones felt too cold to even wiggle a toe.

Tony closed his eyes, still not moving and sure he wouldn't be able to get himself to move for the cold, when he heard a scuffle, followed by a gasp. A familiar gasp. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked furiously to make out the blurry red figure making its way towards him.

"-ark? Mr. Stark!" Penny Parker called, and he felt a jolt of fear rush through him. What was she doing here? How had she gotten here? She knelt down beside him, her face scrunched up in worry as she looked over his trashed suit frantically, "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. That cat guy was leaving on this weird plane and I tried to sneak on but he caught me and he invited me to come with him and we dealt with that weird guy outside and he left with him. I said I'd just come and find you and you could fly, I should've--"

"Stop talking," he rasped, suddenly finding it in himself to sit up, grunting at his ribs. Penny shut up immediately, her jaw clicking audibly. He glared at her, "What the hell are you doing here? I told you you were done. You could've gotten hurt. You can get hurt. The suit can't fly us out of here!"

"I'm sorry," she said again, "I don't know, I just wanted to help. Wasn't...wasn't that why you brought me here?"

Tony cursed himself for bringing her to Germany at all. For dragging her into this and for assuming a kid who had taken up a vigilante lifestyle would ever listen to him. He was angry. He was betrayed. He was tired. And he took it out on Penny.

"No. You were supposed to help in Germany, not for you to follow me around. Where was Happy? I swear one day I'm just going to kick him to the curb. First the elevator and then--"

"Don't blame him! I have super senses, it's easy to sneak away!" Penny protested, looking incredibly upset at the idea of him firing Happy. Of course, he never would, but the kid didn't know that. Still, he only responded with an irritated look.

Tony stood up, stumbling to his feet. Penny tried to help him up by putting an arm on his shoulder, but he shook her off roughly, "The arc reactor's been trashed. There might be enough material here to patch it up, which was Rescue Plan Number One until you came along. But, since you're here, I'll have to make something to contact Rho--Happy. Grab that shield and stay out of trouble."

Penny did as told, her mouth a thine line as she nodded. She clearly got the memo that he was mad at her, and he could practically feel the way she was tiptoeing around him, following loosely behind silently, a stark contrast to the heavy thudding of his own footsteps. They headed into the room he'd been in earlier, just before the fighting had broken out. Now it was trashed, with glass and broken machinery littering the ground, crunching under his metal feet.

Tony surveyed the room, blocking out everything that had just happened in favor of letting his mind do what it did best; Work. He was great at work, at putting things together and forcing out everything that was too much.

There wasn't much in the room. It was all incredibly old, and he was sure most of it didn't work anymore, especially now that it was the remnants of a battle. If he could find some old missiles, he'd be able to fix his arc reactor. Temporarily anyway. At the very least it'd provide him with some emergency firepower, as well as keep his suit warm. It was frigid in here, and he was glad for the suit's thick padding at least.

The thought made him glance at the teenager beside him. He wouldn't be able to activate her suit's heater without contacting Friday, or fixing up her suit manually. Strangely, she wasn't even shivering. Maybe spider mutations made it easier to stay warm, like how Steve could--

He shook his head. He couldn't think about that. He had to work. He had to get home and make sure Rhodey would get the best care and braces so he could walk. He needed to get this kid home to her family so she could be safe instead of traipsing around the barren wasteland of Siberia.

The billionaire pulled out a chair that scraped against the ground, sitting down and beginning to work off his armor, "Put that shield down, kid, and help me out."

"Yes, sir," she answered, placing the shield down gently on a nearby monitor and padding over to him. He grimaced at the sir, but was too tired to even bother correcting her. Penny's super strength was amazingly helpful in taking his armor off, and despite her almost godly strength, she was surprisingly gentle. She was definitely a lot better at taking apart the armor than Butterfingers and U had been.

Once all the armor was off and laid off to the side on the floor, he could really begin to get to work, though he was considerably less warm. At least he'd been wearing a suit, and though it was torn in places, it was still better than his usual under-suit. He pried his reactor from the chest plate, the energy source flicking on and off dimly.

"Kid, go and find an AT-5 Spandrel missile. They were standard Soviet missiles, and shouldn't be too hard to find. Bring me as many as you can," he ordered as he grabbed a tool hidden within a compartment in his suit and began taking apart his reactor. He thought Penny might have mumbled a confirmation, but he didn't really hear her, instead hyper-focusing on what he was working on.

Tony's teeth were chattering by the time Penny came back with what he asked for, and he could barely work for the way his hands shook with the obliterating cold and fear. There was a loud CLANG! of metal against metal. It made him shoot up in his seat, twisting around and holding out his hand despite the distinct lack a repulsor.

The culprit of the startling sound ended up just being Penny. And a bunch of missiles. That she'd dropped.

Immediately his face turned into a scowl, glowering as the teen bent down to begin picking up the extremely dangerous explosives she'd dropped, not even saying anything.

"Jesus Christ, kid! Why weren't you watching what you're doing? And you can't even listen! I told you to stay out of the fight and now you're here! Right where I don't want you to be. I don't know why I asked you for help in--"

Tony cut himself off, plopping back into the chair with a heavy sigh. He shouldn't be yelling. He shouldn't be screaming and blaming and taking everything out on this kid. Because she was a kid. And because he'd brought her into this.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," she whispered, her voice practically nonexistent. Immediately his head snapped up, and his whole body shot up at the sight of the kid. Her face was deathly pale, her lips bluer than the sky and her caramel eyes wet.

He stepped over to her, putting as much gentleness and reassurance into his voice as he could. He put a hand up to her forehead--even he was surprised by the fatherly gesture--pulling it back, as though burned, "Jeez, kid. You're freezing up. Sit down for a moment."

"No, Mr. Stark. I'm fine, I'm okay really--"

"You're fine when I say you're fine. Sit down," he interrupted, and he noticed that she still wasn't shivering. That was bad. That was a stage of hypothermia, right? "Okay, we're just gonna have to get you warm. You're probably entering hypothermia right now, so I need to--"

"What? Why?" Penny blinked.

"You're not shivering, kid. It's a stage of hypothermia. Now, there's a heater in--"

"It's not hypothermia."

"Kid--"

"Spiders can't thermoregulate."

Tony blinked.

"That's worse. You do realize that's worse, right? We're in Siberia, and you can't keep up a constant body temperature?"

"Not really."

"Oka, okay, okayokayokay! We'll just have to work with this," Tony panicked, shrugging off his ripped suit jacket and wrapping it around her, "Just hang in there. I'm just gonna fix the arc reactor and then I can send out a message, okay?"

"Mkay," she mumbled, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You'll get cold without your jacket."

Tony blinked. Why did she care. Why did this child with wide brown eyes and poofy brown hair care about him. He hadn't done anything for her. Had just yelled at her and dragged her around countries to fight people.

Unsure of how to respond, he just patted her shoulder and began to work again. He was aware of Penny watching him sleepily the whole time, and he wished he could just work faster, but his hands were too unsteady to get anything done. He missed Yinsen and his steady hands.

As he was struggling to put two wires together, Penny padded up behind him, offering, "I can do that, Mr. Stark."

"Go sit back down, kid."

"Your hands are shaking," she protested. Tony stared in front of him for a moment before sniffing and moving out of the way.

"Fine, but you have to listen to my instructions. Okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Stark."

Penny did...great. Due to his shaky hands he allowed her to put the rest of it together for him, under his careful instruction of course. He'd known she was smart but...damn. This girl was an actual genius. She understood every word he said, had pieced together the arc reactor like it was nothing. Needless to say he was actually considering making her internship a real one.

Once they'd put the power source together, Tony placed it back in the suit, grateful to see the suit light up clue with power and to hear Friday's ever assuring voice, though she definitely sounded a little loopy.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," Friday said, "It is good to see you're okay."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he responded, "Call me and the kid a Quinjet, would ya? I'm ready for a hot cup of coffee, and maybe a coco for the kid."

"Yes, sir."

Now all they had to do was wait.

 ---

Waiting, it turned out, wasn't too bad. The cold still sucked ass, but there were worse people to be stuck with. They told jokes and kept up mild conversation, managing to keep his mind off of the betrayal that had just occurred. Sometimes he still stared off at the screen where the video had been shown, but Penny would make some dumb pun, and then he'd be back in the conversation.

He ended up being able to turn Penny's suit heater on thanks to Friday's help, allowing for some color to finally return to her cheeks, though they were still both freezing. He blamed the cold for their eventual cuddle party, the kid tucked underneath his arm as they tried to conserve body heat. Though he couldn't deny that playing with her hair was calming in a way he didn't know had existed.

And in those few hours where they waited for the Quinjet, Steve almost didn't matter. It didn't matter that the Avengers were done for. It didn't matter they weren't prepared. And it didn't matter that Steve had almost killed him and left him for dead. Just for those few hours, Penny Parker was all that mattered.

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Le cirque des mirages

T, 3.7k, IronHawk, Fluff & Angst, Underage Drinking, Druge Use, Implied Child Abuse & Self-Harm, H/C - it’s all not that intense, there’s fluff too | AO3

―

The first time Tony fell in love he was eight years old.

His father was abroad for a week on a business trip and his mother and Jarvis took the opportunity to watch with him a circus performance. From the very second the director entered the arena Tony was completely entranced.

With awe in his eyes he watched the trainer tame a real lion, which almost took his breath away throughout the whole show. The horse spectacle put a smile on his face bright enough to reach from one ear to the other. Even the clowns made him laugh, although it took him only seconds to see through their tricks.

But his personal highlight were the acrobats; Those men and women bending the laws of physics according to their own visions through sheer muscle strength and concentration with grace and beauty. How they performed stunts in breathtaking elegance and finesse Tony never even could have dreamed of.

Throughout the whole show his mother failed to make him sit still ― because Tony, Tony felt like he was flying.

Even months later, his eyes still reflected the sparkle of the cheery-colorful costumes. He told everyone who wanted to hear ― and those who didn’t ― about his mathematical calculations, which he puzzled over for days. At what angle someone had to hold their pose in order to balance on a rope in the middle of the air, despite the high air resistance. How much strength it needed in the arms to swing from ring to ring without falling on the floor with a loud thump. Or how strong one had to push their legs so that another person could position themselves onto the feet.

Years passed and Tony never wished for anything other than watching a circus performance for his birthday. In every second that he didn’t convulsively try making his father proud, he dreamed of big tents, the interior filled with multicolored lights, and the feeling of warmth in his chest.

His illusions stopped all of a sudden when he was fourteen years old and his much older classmates all thought of him as boring. Instead, he began to devote himself to the art of seduction and became friendly with the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

But buried deep inside, the circus always remained his personal sanctuary.

―

The second time Tony fell in love he was seventeen years old.

Dead drunk and with no memory of the last three hours, he found himself right in front of a circus tent, the loud shouts from the inside announcing the beginning of a show. He didn’t know how his feet carried him to somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but instead of ordering a cab back to the MIT campus, he bought a ticket and before he knew it, he was in the middle of that turmoil that only tormented his drunken head even more.

Though the majority of the performance flew past him in a shimmer of colors and roars, he grasped enough to see that this was not a conventional circus. The acrobats sometimes lacked some limbs, knife throwers threw at each other and not at targets, fire-eaters jumped simultaneously on trampolines, clowns juggled with swords… if Tony hadn’t been so sure that he hadn’t touched a single joint that day, he would have been convinced he was high.

Just when he thought the performance was over and he was ready to go back―

“And now a big round of applause for the star of our show, The World’s Greatest Marksman! Or as you know him: Hawkeye!”

―the wind was taken out of his sails.

A boy, not possibly older than fifteen, entered the arena in a purple suit, bow in one hand and arrow case in the other over his shoulder swinging. His blond hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed, a scar ran across his right cheek and a devil-may-care grin graced his lips.

Tony was immediately captivated in its spell. As if hypnotized, he watched this boy shoot his arrows at the moving targets in a matter of seconds without looking at them once, and each time hitting bull’s eye. Watched the muscles of the upper arms illuminated by the spotlight move as the bow was pulled. Watched him roll in midair as he was light as a feather.

Tony couldn’t help but return the next day. And the day after that. And as often as possible until more than a month had passed and his fascination with Hawkeye still didn’t find an end at all. He no longer even looked the other attractions anymore, but only had eyes for the mysterious and mesmerizing archer.

Then, the circus did what all circuses do ― they moved.

And Tony followed.

But Tony was first and foremost an MIT student, and there was only so much he could do. If he hadn’t been a billionaire’s son with unlimited access to his fortune since hacking into Howard’s bank account years ago, he would never have been able to follow them across the states whenever he had a day off.

Before he knew it, two years had passed and Tony had graduated from the university with two doctorates. The circus had once again temporarily taken root in New York, where he also planned to complete his third doctorate.

Since his third visit, he could’ve sworn that Hawkeye winked at him at the end of each of his shows ― this assumption was confirmed when, once again, he was the last one left in the tent, sweetly dazed from the marijuana mixed with the bitter taste of the whiskey, before carefully stumbling outside.

“Y’know,” greeted him a chirpy-cheerful voice to his left, “they call me Hawkeye because I observe a lot and see things better from a distance. Not just see, but see, know what I mean?”

“Ah, and here I thought it’s because you’ve got a bat’s sense of hearing,” Tony couldn’t help but say. At least this earned him an amused snort.

“Nah, ‘m hard of hearing and if I weren’t so good at lip reading, I wouldn’t have understood a word of what you just babbled,” came the witty answer Tony admittedly hadn’t expected. “I must’ve left quite an impression that you watch my shows regularly over two years, huh?”

Oh, haughty. Tony liked that a lot. “Who says I’m here for you? Maybe I’m just here because of the incredible Swordsman, ever thought about that, huh?”

Another snort. “Two words: Hawk. Eye.”

Technically, this was still just one word, but okay, he won that round, Tony didn’t know how to counter that.

Then, with a jerk, he pushed himself off the pole he had been leaning against and came so close to Tony that they breathed the same air. “Name’s Clint,” he introduced himself with a mischievous grin on his face.

Which Tony already knew. Clinton Barton, seventeen, joined together with his older brother Barney the circus when he was only nine years old. Tony did not stalk him; those are the only information he had dug up ― he just really had wanted to know who that amazing archer was.

“Tony Carbonell”, he said, like the professional liar that he was, and grinned right back.

Clint nodded once, licked his lips and asked uninhibited, “Wanna fuck?”

Hell yes, he almost shouted, if… if he hadn’t seen something in Clint’s sky-blue eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. A mixture of insecurity, fear and caution ― once bitten, twice shy, he thought. Tony understood that there depended more from his answer than just its semblance.

“Thanks, but not today. Perhaps some other time, if the offer still stands then.”

As if on command, Clint’s whole posture visibly relaxed, as if an invisible weight had fallen from his shoulders. Jackpot.

“Do you want to share a joint with me instead?” Tony seamlessly changed the subject, like he had learned from child on as the center of the media to let a conversation dance according to his pipe.

Clint shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Which is how minutes later Tony learned that Clint had never smoked a joint before. He also learned that Clint was a terrific storyteller. In particular, however, he learned that Clint’s laugh could even lighten a cathedral.

In less than two hours, the two of them became best friends. And less than three weeks of those regular meetings, they became lovers.

When one night under the starry sky Clint kissed him on the mouth without even a warning ― in the middle of the sentence ― it was as if the world had stood still. Chaotic and moisty and interrupted by their drunken laughter, it was the worst and best kiss of his life.

Two days later, Tony rented a shabby little flat in Manhattan that was about to collapse. Strictly speaking, he bought the whole building, but he twisted the truth there a little bit. That was the only way how he could bring Clint home without Howard knowing about it and without Clint getting wind of his wealth.

“I like your place. Nice view,” mocked Clint. After that there was not much left to say, because Tony wanted to inaugurate this apartment. Years ago, Tony had already lost all interest in virgins, but Clint’s inexperience was a delight that surprised even him. Every single touch left his skin tingling and made his heart flutter in an irregular rhythm. Clint tasted like honey and smoke, like nutmeg and vodka, like strawberries and chili ― he tasted like love.

Even in the dim light of the apartment, Tony took every opportunity to trace the contours of Clint’s muscles crafted by his archery training, and to memorize Clint’s facial expression forever at his climax. Not even Michelangelo could have captured the subtleties of such beauty.

Being in a relationship with Clint was nothing Tony had ever experienced before. But not everything thereof was positive. There were hardly any days when Clint wasn’t covered in bandages and plasters or grazes. Most of them Tony knew that they were the result of Clint’s clumsiness, who stumbled over his own feet even on flat ground and then broke his nose masterfully. But some of them were too deep, too clean, too precise. Tony knew what it looked like trying to make a wound look like an accident.

Once, Tony didn’t have enough whiskey left, so he brushed his teeth with gin and tonic. When he tried to kiss Clint afterwards, he was pushed so strongly that his butt landed on the floor. Clint threw up in the toilet and collapsed there, trembling and bathing in sweat.

Howard may have been an absent father who never showed a shred of interest in Tony, but at least he’d never raised his hand against his own family. Tony swore to never even look from the canthus at a gin again.

Ultimately, however, the shady sides were covered by the sunny ones. Because that was how it felt like to be with Clint ― like a warm sunny day, the rays of which finding their way into his deepest parts.

After the circus moved again, Tony continued to visit as often as he could. They then spent the nights in Clint’s bed, where Barney could catch them at any moment. It was absolutely worth the risk. And Tony didn’t have the slightest clue how, but Clint managed to convince the circus director to stay in New York more often and longer. For completely selfless reasons, he claimed.

Often it was impossible for Tony to hide his true intellect, simply because he didn’t want to. Only two months into their relationship, he learned to use ASL fluently. If Clint had had more TV access or at least a little interest in magazines, he would have quickly known who Tony really was.

“You are really good with those computers, aren’t you?”

An understatement for Tony, especially considering that Clint had already met DUM-E. But he just hummed simply while he continued to work on his next AI and enjoyed Clint’s feather-light kisses on his neck.

“Can you also hack and stuff?”

Here he had to laugh softly. “Three years ago, Rhodey bet with me that I could never ever hack the Pentagon. Guess who won.”

“Cool.” There was a grin on the back of his neck Tony could literally feel.

Which was the only explanation for how it happened that Tony hacked into NASA’s server an hour later and, while he was already there, corrected a few of their mathematical equations. It wasn’t even in the top ten of the most dangerous things he had done with Clint. Their relationship might’ve been a lot of things, but sure as hell never boring.

Two years later Howard was driving drunk, killing not only himself but also Tony’s mother. From then on, everything went down the drain.

Tony almost drank himself into nirvana and when he suddenly woke up in the bed of his apartment with a pounding headache, he found Clint snuggled up next to him. Tears adorned his eyes, which were darker than usual and reminded him of blueberries ― Tony’s new favorite fruit, as he decided at exact that moment.

Clint said nothing, he didn’t need to. In the end, Howard Stark and Harold Barton were more alike than Tony had first thought. He tried not to think about having no excuse anymore to take over his legacy and that Uncle Obie would soon find him. Instead, he hugged Clint closely and placed a tender kiss on his temple while he could still do so. The steady heartbeat of Clint’s and his hand stroking trough his hair was the only reason he stayed sane.

Love, Tony thought, must be the power of the gods.

Twelve days later, he received a call from the hospital where Clint was taken to the ER. He had had to be resuscitated during the operation and was now lying unconscious in bed tied up on various machines.

It was only after 37 hours that he finally woke up.

Jacques, the Swordsman, had stolen money from the circus and when Clint tried to tell the director, he was downright beaten to death. Barney had just turned his head and left him on the floor. Tony didn’t show his anger even for a second while those incidents were being recited. He waited for Clint to fall asleep again and then contacted his lawyers ― after hitting the wall with his fist until it was red with blood as the rage boiling through his veins like hot lava.

Tony accepted that it was probably time to tell Clint about the things he had been hiding. It wasn’t that he had deliberately wanted to lie for two years, he was only afraid that Clint would turn away from him as soon as he knew who Tony really was. His pejorative attitude towards the rich clearly spoke for it.

But Tony had the means to help Clint, so he would take the risk. He decided to address this as soon as they were home. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in the hospital.

“Yesterday,” Clint began to say out of the blue on the fourth day of his hospital stay, “one of those suit wearers came to visit me. Coulson or something’s his name. Miracle he could sit down with the giant stick in the ass.”

He interrupted himself because of a fit of giggling. The painkillers had a strong effect on Clint. “Anyway,” he continued after a few minutes, “he offered me a job. Said they could use someone with my particular skillset.”

After a long break Tony asked, “And?”

“And… I think I want to take a look at that offer.”

Tony scratched his chin where he had started to grow a goatee. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. It sounded to him as if he’d never see Clint again, as irrational as the thought was.

“Will you… will you come back?” he just had to ask, while carefully taking Clint’s hand in his and slowly following the early rough lines crafted from archery. He would never tire of the feeling of Clint’s hand in his.

This earned him a smile, so bright that his eyes shone even more beautiful than the stars in the sky. “Of course. I will always come back to you, Tony.”

But in the end, their relationship had been nothing more than a circus of illusions. A world where Tony could just be himself. Not Tony Stark, child prodigy, son of the so-called ‘Icon of America’s Strength’, heir to a multibillion-dollar company ― just Tony. A world in which he was loved not for his money or fame, but for his heart.

A world in which Clint wasn’t the victim of child abuse. In which he wasn’t betrayed by his only brother and left behind to die. In which he didn’t hurt himself just to see if he could still feel. In which he hadn’t run away from anything all his life and wouldn’t do it again. Simply a world in which he was happy.

Because that was where they both gave in to the illusion. They had been so busy with being happy that they both forgot one important thing: Life always caught up with you.

Twenty years and almost the end of the world had to pass for their paths to finally cross again.

 ―

The third time Tony fell in love he was forty-two years old.

Rubble and ashes had made themselves comfortable in his new home. A huge crater graced the floor of his living room and the Avengers stood awkwardly in the middle, as if ordered and not picked up.

This was the first time the circus had found him, instead of the other way around.

Clint leaned against the back of the sofa and was inspecting his bow. His face was decorated with shiners and blood, though this time Tony at least knew where they came from. His posture screamed nonchalance, but his frown whispered unease.

Without thinking about it, he stood next to him, their shoulders almost touching, and continued to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have stayed away ― Clint has always had a magnetic attraction on him.

“So, you’d come back, huh?”

Clint didn’t seem fazed at all. But the days Tony was able to read him like an open book were over a long time ago. He wondered if Clint even realized that he built the Stark Tower on exact the same spot their apartment used to be, before he had the building torn down.

“So, Tony Carbonell, huh?” came the snarky reply.  

Okay, fair enough. “My mother’s maiden name was Carbonell, so I didn’t lie technically.”

“Well, I came back now, so technically I didn’t lie either.” And then Clint had the utter gall to grin at him. Tony almost punched him.

He thought of all those days he had been waiting in the apartment for Clint to return. Thought of all those hours he stared at the telephone in case of a call. Thought of all those times he anxiously went to hospitals and police stations, hoping to find Clint somewhere there.

After six months of unsuccessful searching, he had resigned himself to the fact that Clint no longer wanted him. That he had found out who Tony really was and that he’d just left him to twist in the wind.

Whiskey had found its way through his blood system more than ever. Cocaine had blurred his reality until he ended up in the ER which is why he stopped with it immediately. Men and women had warmed his bed, imitating what he and Clint had had. His nights have never been the same again.

Even after Tony moved to California ― trying to chase the sun’s rays, which Clint had always made shine for him ― he never quit their apartment lease. Just in case. Instead, he installed a camera there that J.A.R.V.I.S. could access. Just in case. Throughout all those years, he had looked at the death notices every day with trembling nostrils. Just in case.

It suddenly dawned on Tony why the alarm bells always rang when he saw Coulson. The new job. Special Agent Clint Barton ― codename: Hawkeye. From the circus’ star attraction to a high ranked spy. Now an Avenger. Tony had always known that Clint’s life had been nowhere near normal ever.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze back to Clint. Tony chose his next words very carefully. “In the past twenty years I’ve done some stupid things that I can’t even begin to list. Many of them were created under the influence of alcohol,” here he looked him straight in the eye without a hint of hesitation, “but not once have I even touched a gin again.”

When Clint finally dropped his mask ― his own illusion of indifference ― Tony was able to pinpoint it the exact moment it happened. His light blue eyes, previously disinterested and dull, shone in a new light, encased by insecurity and adoration, shame and mischief, pleading for forgiveness and radiating warmth all at the same time. A mess of feelings, each of which Tony was allowed to identify and classify.

“I like your new place. Nice view,” Clint just replied. The meaning of his words made his heart skip a beat. Warmth filled him from within that Tony couldn’t help but give him a shy smile, full of trust and hope.

When suddenly Clint put his arm around Tony’s shoulders, it was as if they were both just two stupid teenagers again, bathing in each other’s attention and the weight on their shoulders not yet so heavy that it dragged them down. The bare spot on his neck, which wasn’t covered by the Iron Man armor, tingled with the touch. Blood roared in his ears and a wave of emotions hit him so hard it almost took his breath away.

Tony threatened to lose the ground under his feet. In order not to panic and kiss Clint directly on the mouth here and now, he blurted out the only thing he could do to deliberately hide the upcoming tears in his eyes: “So, shawarma?”

Clint’s loud laugh echoed through the room like a bird’s song in a cave.

And Tony fell in love again.

[dogbearinggifts]

“He Made Me What I Am Today”: Thoughts on Pogo and Complicity

It’s taken me a while to understand this fandom’s hatred of Pogo. 

He’s never been a favorite character of mine, but I’ve always liked him. In the show and in the comics, he serves as a sort of surrogate father figure, providing the siblings with much-needed level-headed advice and guidance free from abuse. In the show especially, he’s stern yet kind, intelligent and understanding of the children’s limitations. This is precisely the sort of parent the Hargreeves siblings needed. 

So you can imagine my surprise when I found fans expressing disgust toward his character—some going so far as to cheer his gruesome death at Vanya’s hand. 

Vanya, it seems, is at the center of fandom’s disdain for Pogo. Many arguments as to why he allegedly deserved what he got center on his actions the day Reginald had Allison Rumor her into forgetting her powers, and on the fact he never told her the truth. These arguments tend to treat Pogo as the only truly rational adult in that house since he lacked Grace’s manipulative programming and Reginald’s sadism. Because he was the only one who saw Reginald for what he was, he had a responsibility to stand up to him and put an end to the abuse. According to this view, Pogo chose to be complicit in Vanya’s abuse. He chose not to stop it, he chose not to undo it, and it is this choice that makes him irredeemable. 

What it fails to account for, though, is that Pogo isn’t the only clear-headed adult in that house. To say he chose to go along with Reginald’s orders is a drastic oversimplification. Because, like Grace, Pogo too was programmed to never disagree with Reginald. Like the children he cared for, he was abused into compliance; and like Vanya, he was made to forget the power he possessed. 

Pogo Is a Product of Abuse

In the comics we get a moment where Five, having donned Reginald’s monocle, sees Pogo as an apparently ordinary chimp suffering in a lab*. The show implies Pogo’s origin with a single line: “In all respects, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today.” 

I want you to ponder that for a moment. Pogo wasn’t born with human intelligence or a human personality. He was born as an ordinary chimp with no more intellect or insight into the universe than other chimps possess. Then, one day, he’s taken captive. His captor torments him. He hurts him. He leaves at night and returns in the morning to hurt him again, and again, for hours and hours and he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what’s happening, he only knows it hurts and he hurts and he wants it to be over but it’s not over—

And then one day it is. 

It’s over. The pain ends. The ongoing fear and despair comes to a halt as Pogo understands more than he ever thought possible. 

Reginald could have explained every step of the process to Pogo, once he had the intellect to comprehend it. Or he could have kept the details somewhat vague, but made the link between Pogo’s newfound sapience and the horrors he endured clear. Whatever the case, it stuck with Pogo for the rest of his life. 

Everything Pogo has—every word he speaks, every thought in his head—is the result of those experiments. Every aspect of his life exists because he was held in that lab for perhaps months on end, dragged from cage to table and back again, pricked with needles and cut with scalpels. Without the horror Reginald inflicted on him, Pogo would still be an average chimp living in a jungle somewhere, unable to comprehend things we humans take for granted. 

No one is more aware of this than Pogo. 

His Attitude Toward Abuse is Fundamentally Broken 

Reginald didn’t need to abuse his kids. This fact is so apparent it almost need not be said, and I only say it because by the end of the first season, all seven of those kids either know this or are in the process of learning it. Exclusion from the family dynamic, exile to the Moon, being locked in a tomb with the dead—none of these things were necessary, and the people who suffered them are aware of this. 

But in these cases, it’s obvious that the methods used did boundless harm and negligible good. Vanya’s exclusion left her depressed and bitter, with few social skills and no friends to speak of. Luther’s exile sent him spiraling deep into suicidal depression, led him to self-harm, and robbed him of whatever ease with social graces he might have possessed. Klaus’ stints in the mausoleum left him with untreated PTSD and a crippling fear of the dead, leading him to cope through drugs and alcohol. Each of those kids can tell a similar story: Reginald put them through hell to try and make them stronger, and instead they were broken almost beyond repair. 

Pogo’s abuse, on the other hand, worked as intended. Reginald planned for it to give him sapience and high intelligence (in the comics he’s referred to as Dr. Pogo) and that is what it did. 

I’m certain that, given a little time and a conscience, Reginald could have devised a way to grant Pogo his intelligence without the need for experiments or persistent cruelty. A man who can grant humanlike intelligence to an ordinary chimp is a man who can refine his methods to make them as painless and noninvasive as possible, but for whatever reason Reginald chose the most sadistic method. The abuse was not necessary, but it’s a part of Pogo’s origin story and a part of his past. 

The horrific abuse Pogo suffered resulted in a clear, tangible benefit for him. If that sounds twisted, it’s because it is. Pogo’s abuse is twisted, and his story is twisted. Rather than backfiring as it did in the cases of the Hargreeves siblings—and in real cases where parents resort to abuse to make their children stronger—it did precisely what it was meant to. It made Pogo stronger. It improved his mind. It gave him everything he never knew he wanted. 

So when he sees Vanya being locked in a soundproofed room or watches Luther depart for the Moon on a pointless mission, his thoughts are almost certainly not on what sort of awful man would visit those horrors upon his own children. Chances are, they’re on how some good must come of this. While he suffered in that lab, he couldn’t have known he would wake from those horrific, invasive, degrading experiments stronger than he ever thought possible. Surely Luther and Vanya and all the other children will emerge from their own suffering stronger than before. 

He Doesn’t See Reginald the Same Way the Siblings Do

It’s rarely addressed in fandom, but Pogo and the Hargreeves siblings come into Reginald’s care in markedly different ways, and they are intended for markedly different roles. The children are adopted as infants, presented to the world as Reginald’s children, and brought to the dining room table each meal. They’re given rooms in the upper stories of the Academy and, while not treated in any way resembling decent or humane, are at least granted the status that comes with being the child of a reclusive billionaire. 

Pogo, on the other hand, began as a science experiment. When the torture he endures attains its goal, he is never treated as anything more than a butler. His room is sparse and in what appears to be the servants’ quarters, and he is never shown seated at the table with the rest of the family. When speaking to the very children who seem to regard him as a secondary father figure, he calls them Master and Miss—deferential even as he exerts authority. 

To the siblings, Reginald Hargreeves is Dad. He’s cruel and unreasonable, sadistic and uncaring even when it would behoove him to show a modicum of kindness. Under his roof, his authority is absolute—but that authority extends only to the outer walls of the Academy. If Reginald had never adopted them, Klaus would still be Klaus and Vanya would still be Vanya—hopefully with more confidence and less trauma, but they would still be the same people. Their personalities and intelligence would have remained constant regardless of who raised them. 

Without Reginald, Pogo as we know him would not exist. Philosophy and physics, morality and mathematics would have remained foreign to him. Even if he had lived and died as content as a chimp can be, he would have gone to his grave without enjoying a good book or understanding why people seek out music that makes them cry. Reginald might be Dad to the siblings; but to Pogo, he’s God—reaching down from on high, plucking Pogo out of the dust and demanding his will be done. 

It’s an understatement to say that Pogo knows Reginald is smarter than he is. His intelligence and personality exist because Reginald possesses the capacity to grant intelligence and personality to animals like him; and if he has the power to bring animals up to a human level, then his intelligence must far outstrip even the smartest human. He’s brought Pogo to a level on par with the children he cares for, but he hasn’t brought Pogo up to his level, because that level is so far beyond that of an ordinary human that it’s impossible to conceive. As far as Pogo knows, Reginald Hargreeves can see in nine dimensions and remembers every point in human history. 

The programming instilled through religious abuse can be overcome. Those raised to see their deity as an all-powerful version of Reginald Hargreeves—harsh and demanding, quick to find fault and quicker to mete out punishment—can and have conquered this view and managed to either renounce faith entirely or define it on their own terms. It can be done. But it’s also extremely difficult. The abusive deity survivors are raised to worship is all too often made out to be a deity with humanity’s best interests at heart, whose abuse will eventually bring about humanity’s good. 

From all the evidence we’re presented with, it appears something very similar has happened with Pogo. It’s doubtful Pogo worships the man, but it is clear he not only reveres him, but trusts him—and trusts that the crimes he perpetuates against his own children will ultimately benefit them. 

He Tries to Mitigate the Abuse 

He doesn’t step in and try to stop it. We see him assisting Reginald at several points—pointing Allison toward the security footage, withholding the truth of his Moon mission and Reginald’s suicide from Luther, holding the door as Reginald ushers Vanya into that soundproofed chamber. He’s never enthusiastic about this support—in Vanya’s case, he is clearly pained by what he’s enabling—but he doesn’t put his foot down and refuse to do as he’s told, either. But he doesn’t treat the children as Reginald does. If anything, he strives to be Reginald’s opposite in as many ways as he feels he is able. 

If later seasons reveal that Reginald rose each morning and made a list of ways to make Vanya feel unwelcome in her own home, I would not be surprised. He places her at the end of the table; he makes her stay upstairs while her siblings get tattoos; he refuses to let her be in the family photo. All of his actions toward her, large and small, made it clear that she was inadequate and that he barely considered her part of the family. Yet when she returns to the Academy for Reginald’s memorial service, Pogo greets her warmly, addresses her with the same honorific he uses for Allison, and tells her “This is your home, and it always will be.” Reginald may have treated Vanya as unworthy of his approval, but Pogo treats her as her siblings’ equal. 

From the quick temper he displays at Five’s insistence he be allowed to time travel and the obvious fear the other siblings have of him, it seems clear Reginald’s punishments were anything but fair. Discipline, it seems, was a chance for Reginald to vent his anger on whichever child displeased him, rather than a means to correct bad behavior. But when Klaus steals the box and throws the journal away, Pogo doesn’t fly into a rage and toss Klaus out on the street—or do something even more twisted—as Reginald might have. Instead, he confronts Klaus, informs him of the error and why it matters, and gives him a chance to correct his mistake. Reginald’s discipline was likely capricious and disproportionate; but if this example is anything to go by, Pogo’s approach is stern, yet consistent and restrained. 

Pogo does deliberately withhold information from Luther and, to a lesser extent, Allison. He places Allison in a room where she’s sure to find the relevant tape, effectively sending her and Luther off on a wild goose chase. When Luther discovers his Moon mission was a sham, Pogo’s attempt at comfort can sound an awful lot like damage control. However, these deceptions are undercut with a subtle layer of kindness. He lures Allison to the relevant tape with footage of herself and her siblings as children—footage that includes her deceased brother, which is comforting and cheering to her. He is quick to refute Luther’s assumption that he was sent to the Moon for his own personal failures; while his reasoning that “After your accident, he wanted to give you purpose” has the ring of an excuse (and a flimsy one at that) it’s offered when Luther is clearly spiraling and in desperate need of something to hold onto. It’s clear in this scene that Pogo isn’t simply trying to cover his own ass; he cares for Luther and wants to ease his pain. 

Pogo Probably Doesn’t Realize He Could Have Done More 

When I was a kid, I watched a show called Recess. (Late 90s and early 2000s kids probably all just cracked a grin.) If you haven’t seen it, it followed a group of fourth grade students and their adventures at school, outside of school and—mostly—at recess. There were a lot of colorful characters on that playground, and one of them was Ms. Finster, an assistant teacher who monitored the kids at recess and served as a recurring villain, relishing each and every chance she got to foil lovable troublemaker TJ’s plans. 

In one episode, Ms. Finster hits on a plan that she calls The Box. She draws a box and, when TJ misbehaves, makes him stand inside. It’s just four chalk lines on asphalt, but it triggers something in TJ’s brain. When he stands in The Box, he sees the asphalt rising up to hem him in, pulling him further and further underground as his panic rises. He isn’t imprisoned. He can leave at any time, and to an outsider this much is painfully—even comically—obvious. But to TJ, he’s trapped. 

Pogo could have stood up to Reginald. He could have done it when Vanya’s powers were taken away, or he could have done it on a random Thursday. He could have taken Luther aside and told him the truth of Reginald’s death or he could have sat everyone down and explained Vanya’s powers before shit hit the fan. I’ve said elsewhere that the characters in this show are responsible for their actions, but Pogo is responsible for his inaction.

Yet this inaction is not the result of a moral failing on Pogo’s part. He didn’t sit back and choose not to tell Luther or Vanya the truth or remain complicit in their abuse because he wanted to see them suffer. “I had no choice” is what he tells Luther. To us, it’s obvious that Luther’s response—“There’s always choice”—is correct. 

But it isn’t obvious to Pogo, because Pogo is trapped in a Box of his own. It’s a Box made of abuse both physical and mental, of a twisted gratitude toward the man who tormented him, of a lack of faith in his own conscience. Pogo is complicit in the siblings’ abuse, make no mistake. Of all the people living in the Academy, Pogo probably stood the greatest chance of overthrowing Reginald and getting those kids into a more positive environment. He wielded the most power in that situation, and Reginald knew this. And so, as with Vanya, Reginald made Pogo forget his power. It took longer. It involved more pain, more mental manipulation than direct mind control. But in the end, what Reginald did to Pogo was far more effective—and arguably more sinister—than what he did to Vanya. 

Her powers, after all, could be reinstated simply by removing her medication. Removing barriers around your own mind meant to keep you dependent and doubtful, with no physical evidence to prove those barriers are gone? That can take a lifetime. 

*********

*It’s been a while since I’ve read the comics, but I do remember that chimps with human intelligence are just kind of a Thing in that world. I don’t remember if Pogo’s sapience is made out to be a product of experimentation or if the experiments he endured are separate from that. However, since Pogo is apparently the only superintelligent primate butler in the show’s ‘verse, it seems the implication is that he gained his intelligence from Reginald’s experiments. 

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 21: The Bridezilla

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 3424

Warnings: A very distressed and angry Reader, sexual innuendos, cussing, fluff at the end.

A/N: This was honestly so much fun to write, I really hope that you guys like it too. And also, in case you couldn’t tell by now, the italicized words are flashbacks. Enjoy!

Y/N’s neck started to hurt from being hunched over her laptop for so long. The couch cushion underneath her butt began to get uncomfortable as well, but she was too concentrated on the numerous books, magazines, and checklists in front of her to really care.

Her computer’s battery charge was nearing 30%, and she knew that it wouldn’t be healthy to stay on it any longer. But each time she told herself that she would go back to bed, there was always one more thing to take care of. One more thing to research, pick out, plan, and organize for this damn wedding.

A knock on her and Steve’s bedroom door startled Y/N as she was laying on their bed, flipping through a bridal magazine.

“Ya?” The girl asked, not even looking up from the various chair covers on her page.

Natasha took a peak inside of the room before slowly opening the door, shaking her head at the scene in front of her. “J.A.R.V.I.S. called you to come down, why didn’t you answer?”

“I’m busy.” Y/N answered as she circled yet another item in the thin book.

“Well, it’s lunch time. The whole team is waiting for you, come on.” The assassin cocked her head in the direction of the elevator, urging her friend to get up.

“Not hungry.” The H/C haired girl told her blankly.

Natasha shook her head, stepping farther into the bedroom. “Ya? Then take it up with Steve. He says that you haven’t eaten all day, and he wants you down there. Now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, switching from laying on her stomach to laying on her back. She held the magazine above her face, completely blocking out Natasha. “Tell him that I can take care of myself, please and thank you.”

“Well clearly not.” The red head stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

The actress finally sat up, closing her book in front of her. “What’s that support to mean?”

“Come on, N/N, look at you.” Natasha scolded. “You are obsessed with planning an event that’s like a year away!”

Y/N pouted, looking away from her friend. “10 and a half months.” She corrected under her breath.

“Oh, whatever!”

3:07 in the morning, her laptop read. 

Nope, wait.

3:08 now.

Steve would most likely be up in about three hours, ready to go for his usual morning run. All the while Y/N continued to search through countless websites about dresses, and plate settings, and centrepieces galore.

She knew that she was being irrational. That it didn’t really matter whether the bridesmaid dresses had a halter neckline or a v-neck, whether the invitations were printed on pieces of white or cream coloured cardstock.

But this was something that she had been looking forward to ever since she was a little girl. Having a great big wedding filled with her amazing friends and family; a handsome groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle. And now she had all of those things. A group of people in her life that she adored more than anything, and a fiancé who she loved with her whole entire heart. 

Y/N had all of the tools, all of the resources and support systems in order to pull off the fantastic wedding that’s she’s always wanted. But deep down, she knew that she should’ve been treating that support system better in the process.

“Alright,” Steve spoke as he sat down at the kitchen table, “what do you got for me?”

It having been about nine months until the big day, it was finally time for the couple to be testing out cake flavours. Y/N had ordered about twenty different kinds for them to try, and she could’ve not been more excited to get a taste of each and every one.

The girl put her hand on the refrigerator handle, giving her man a smile. “A ton of different options.” She opened up the fridge with a smile. “Let’s just say, you should be thankful for your fast metabolis-“

“What?” Steve asked, seeing Y/N frozen in her spot.

The girl’s eyebrows began to furrow as she went up and down, searching through all the levels of the Avengers shared fridge. “Where’s the rest of my cake?”

“Huh?”

“My cake.” She faced him, placing her hands on her hips. “Half of it’s gone.”

Steve stood up from his chair. “That’s impossible.” He met her at the refrigerator and began to look through it himself, only to see nothing as well.

Just in that moment, Tony and Bruce had walked into the kitchen, looking for a mid-science snack.

“Hey, guys, have you seen the other half of our cake samples?” The Captain questioned them, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder in hopes to calm her down.

Banner gave the group a shrug and turned to Tony, who looked pretty suspiciously guilty himself. 

“What did they look like?” The billionaire asked, avoiding eye contact from the unhappy pair.

“Oh, you know,” the girl ground her teeth, beginning to get a little frustrated, “cake. Cut up into little. Sample. Sizes.”

“Hmm.” Tony pretended to ponder, even scratching his chin for show. “Well, I, uh...”

“Stark?” The Captain interjected, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He could tell that Y/N was getting angry, and he did not want this to cause another ‘episode’.

“I... may have eaten them.” Tony admitted, crossing his arms over his chest in uncharacteristic nervousness. But no one in the whole Tower could even blame him for being frightened. Scary bride Y/N was a very real thing.

“You what?” The girl fumed, shrugging away Steve’s hand and stepping a bit closer to Tony.

The brunette man gulped. “I’m sorry, N/N. I didn’t know that they were yours.”

“Oh. So the large white label that said ‘Wedding Cake Samples’ wasn’t a big enough hint to for you, Mr. Genius?”

The other scientist cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m just going to go.”

“No.” The actress told Bruce, pointing a stern finger at him. “You stay right there, young man.”

Banner furrowed his eyebrows. “‘Young man’? You’re the youngest one here!”

Y/N gave him a pointed look; one that urged him to shut his mouth right away, one that was something a mother would only give to her misbehaving child.

“Do you realize, Tony, how important those little pieces of cake were to me?” She asked, looking the man dead in the eye.

“Look, I really do apologize, Y/N. I’ll just buy you guys new ones. You’ll have them within a couple of days!” He told her in hopes to lighten her spirits.

The Captain just stood there, not daring to get in the middle of this. Sure, he could get her on her knees with a couple of dirty words. And when he used his low sexy voice, she was practically putty in his hands. But right now in this moment, his usually delightful girl was scaring him shitless.

“That’s the problem, dumbass!” Y/N shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “The baker who made these things is going to be in France for the next month and a half for some fancy cooking course!”

“Oh.”

“Ya.” She said in a not so polite way. “Are you just trying to piss me off? Is that it?”

“Wha-No! I swear, it was a simple mistake.” Tony told her. “Why were they even in the common fridge anyways?”

“Because the one on our floor wasn’t big enough to fit the whole tray. I never thought that one of you dummies would eat half the fucking pieces!”

“Woah!” Steve interposed, making the girl turn towards him. “Watch your mouth.”

“Oh shut up!” Y/N yelled back, sticking her tongue out at her fiancé. Him telling her to watch her mouth would usually turn her on in the bedroom, but now was really not the time.

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” The billionaire stated.

“Are you trying to not get invited to our wedding?” The furious girl questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that it? Because I will uninvite you so fast, Tony Stark.”

“I-I’m one of Steve’s groomsmen.” The man spoke with a confused look on his face. “You really can’t-“

“You know what? I don’t even care anymore, finish the whole goddamn tray if you want.” Y/N hissed. “I’m going to my room, and nobody is allowed in!” She stomped past Bruce and Tony and headed her way towards the elevator.

The three men sighed, seeing her click the button multiple times in frustration before finally marching on.

Once the doors were completely closed, so he knew that she couldn’t hear him, Tony let out a low whistle. “Good luck with that one, Cap.”

Gold napkin rings would look just beautiful with the theme of their wedding, Y/N thought to herself. But then again, the cutlery was silver, and it would definitely look silly together. Though, she could also just get gold cutlery. Too many decisions to make and too little time.

With her laptop’s battery nearing a measly 10%, she knew that she should just wrap things up for the night and finally join Steve back in their bed.

But for some reason, she couldn’t. It’s as if she was addicted. Each and every minute of her spare time was dedicated to planning this wedding. And unfortunately, anybody who tried to mess with that, did not come out with a smile.

“Can you please pass me the salad, Maria?” Pepper asked as the whole gang sat around the huge dining room table.

It was Saturday night and all of the Avengers had agreed to not make any other plans, choosing to eat dinner together instead. Meals as a whole were great for team bonding, and mostly everybody enjoyed each other’s company.

“Where’s my doll?” Steve questioned as he was the last one to arrive in the upstairs dining room. The man glanced around the table, only to see her usual spot empty.

“The little firecracker?” Tony spoke before pointing to the hallway opposite of the one that Steve walked in from. “Over there, talking some poor person’s ear off.”

The Captain glanced to where Stark had pointed and sighed at the scene in front of him. There his girl was, standing with her phone to her ear and the other hand on her hip. She was pacing around restlessly, and the look on her face was one of pure annoyance.

Steve slowly walked closer, not wanting to scare her, and placed both of his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Y/N, baby?”

“Ya, ya, just give me a second, Steve.” She continued with her call. “Now this is where I’m confused, Miss Jessica. You told me that they could be ready by July 18th. It is only January the 10th. Why do you need six whole months to make 80 personalized jewellery boxes?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, turning to the team with a ‘help me’ look.

“80 women is not that many!” Y/N continued, completely ignoring him. “What do you mean that you have ‘too many customers’? I ordered first, did I not?” She continued to walk back and forth in the corridor, as the rest of her friends ate their meal. “Well then you know what? I might just have to contact another company and get them to do this task for me, since you obviously can’t. Good day, ma’am.” The girl hung up her cellphone before shoving it in her pocket and running a hand down her face. “Shit.”

“You okay, darling?” Steve asked concernedly.

“I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.” She marched over to the dinner table and sat down in her respective spot; Steve taking his own to the right of her. “Pass me the chicken, please.”

Rhodes then held the dish out in front of her, watching as she angrily placed the chicken parmesan on her plate and messily cut it up.

“Thanks.” She puffed before just ultimately giving up on her food, slouching back in her chair.

“Sweetie, do you want to talk about what happened?” Natasha spoke up, something that the rest of the table was too scared to do. Nobody wanted to get yelled at.

“Well,” Y/N chuckled dryly, “remember those little jewellery boxes that we were looking at together? The ones that we can get engraved with everybody’s first name on them?”

Natasha, Pepper, and Maria nodded, having been there when Y/N was picking them out.

“Apparently the lady can’t make 80 of them in time for the bridal shower.” The passed off girl continued. “So either we reschedule it, or get something else.” She shook her head in frustration, absentmindedly balling her hands into fists.

“I’ll just get some Stark Industries workers to make them.” Tony said through a mouth full of food. “Problem solved.”

“Wait,” a look of pure bliss made it’s way on to Y/N’s previously mad face, “are you serious? They can do that for me?”

The billionaire just shrugged like it was no big deal. “They’re electrical and mechanical engineers. I’m pretty sure that they can handle a little woodshop.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Y/N jumped up from her seat and ran around the table, giving Tony a big hug as he was still in his seat. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, suddenly feeling so much happier than she was before.

“Woah.” Clint chuckled. “Talk about a mood swing. Guess that it’s somebody’s time of the month.”

The whole room went silent.

“What did you just say to me?” Y/N asked slowly while nobody else in the room even dared to make a sound.

“I-It was just a joke.” Clint told her. “M’sorry, N/N.”

“It’s not my time of the month, okay? I’m just really stressed.” The girl explained, wrapping her arms around herself in embarrassment.

“We know, love.” Steve assured with a small smile. “Are you going to sit down and eat now, or am I ‘gonna have to airplane the food into your mouth?” He joked, but he could tell that Y/N was not in the mood.

“Actually, I guess that I’m going to have to take care of my ‘time of the month’.” She said with air quotes. “Have a nice night.” And with that she stormed out of the dinning room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

“Not pointing any fingers,” Maria spoke up after a long minute, “but that was totally your fault, Clint.”

“Babydoll?”

A voice broke Y/N out of her wedding day trance, making her turn towards the raspy sound.

“Steve? What we you doing awake?”

The man stood against the wall in a t-shirt, hoodie, and sweatpants; a typical pyjama set for a cold February night. The outfit made him look every bit like a big snuggly teddy bear, and Y/N would usually just want to cuddle into his chest, but right now she was too preoccupied.

“I reached out for you, but all that I was met with was cold sheets.” Steve told her, a frown very much evident on his handsome face. “But the real question is, what are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged before turning back to her bouquet arrangement website.

“Hm, I see.” The man nodded, walking over to join her on their floor’s couch. “Actually, uh, before I realized that you were gone, I was having a dream.”

“Cool.” Y/N said, not even sparing him a glance. “What about?”

“Well,” Steve cocked his head, trying to put on his sexiest voice, “not much, not much. Just me fucking you so hard that you can’t even walk tomorrow.”

The girl didn’t even flinch. “Nice.”

“Ya.” He sighed, trying to get her to show any kind of emotion. Ever since they had gotten engaged, Y/N has been acting way differently. Steve was determined to break her out of this shell. “Did I ever tell you how much I like your new haircut, baby?”

“Yup.” She replied. “Multiple times.”

“Well, it’s very pretty.” He added.

Y/N continued to scroll through her website, making little check marks on her clipboard every now and then. “It’s just a couple of inches off the bottom.”

Steve smirked. “You know, if you come back to bed with me, I can be more than just a couple of inches into your bottom.”

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head, beginning to get really annoyed with him. “Don’t even need anal right now, Steve. You’re already being a pain in my ass.”

“Wow.” He lightly chuckled, still attempting to turn on the charm. “What’s with the snarky attitude, baby girl? Do I need to take you over my knee again?”

“For the love of God, no, Steve.” Y/N fumed as she stood up from her seat, finally having enough of this. “Do you know what you need to do? What you need to do is go back to bed and leave me alone!”

Steve gulped at her coldness. This was Y/N, his girl. Within the two years and nine months that she had known him, she had never talked to him like that. Ever.

“I-I oh, goodness, Steve. I’m sorry, honey.” She saw water in his eyes and began to cry as well, all of the stress from last several months finally releasing itself. “So sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

The man stood up too and wrapped his thick arms around his fiancée, slowly bringing her closer to his warm chest. “It’s okay, doll.”

“No, no, it’s not okay.” Y/N began to sob while her hands grasped onto Steve’s muscular body, never ever wanting to let go. “You don’t deserve to be tr-tr-treated like that.” She sniffled.

“No, N/N, it’s fine. You’re so good to me, sweetheart.” He insisted, soothingly rubbing the expanse of her back with his hands.

“You’re so good to me.” Y/N told him, taking her face out of his chest and looking him in the eye. “All of you are. I-I’ve been so horrible lately. I yelled at Tony, Nat, Bruce, Pepper, Clint, Maria, Rhodes, my cousin, my mom, my other cousin, those three guys in the mail room that accidentally sent my package to the wrong floor, and now you. I’ve been a complete bitch.”

“Hey, no. I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that again.” Steve shook his head. “You’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“It doesn’t excuse my actions.” She said before wiping her face of any leftover tears. “You guys are always under a lot of pressure, and you never take it out on other people.”

“No, I just take it out on Tony’s punching bags.” The man said, making Y/N’s lips quirk up just the slightest bit. “Is that a smile I see?”

The girl bit her lip sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“Think that I can give you another one?” Steve raised an eyebrow, a plotting look taking over his face. “I think that I can.” His hands slowly made their way down her sides, fingertips ghosting over the dip of her waist. “Maybe with just a little…”

“Stevie-Ah!” Y/N began to giggle at the feel of him tickling her. “O-O-Oh my god, Ste-e-e-eve! Sto-Stop it!” Her giggles soon turned into cackles, and she was squatted so low in hopes to get away, that her back was almost touching the carpet.

“See, there’s my girl.” The Captain beamed, finally finished with his attack. “You promise to stay happy now?”

Y/N nodded, still out of breath. “Only if you help me get off the floor.”

“Whatever you say, N/N.” And with that he scooped her off of the floor, beginning to carry her into their bedroom bridal style.

“Honey.” The girl said with a laugh.

“What?” Steve shrugged. “I’m just practicing for our wedding night.”

Y/N snuggled further into his body, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “M’kay.”

“Looks like somebody is tired after all.” He pointed out, settling her on their shared bed and pulling the covers up over her body.

“I guess so.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Steve spoke, walking around to the other side and getting underneath the covers as well, “right now, we’ll go to sleep. But first thing tomorrow, you and I are hiring a wedding planner.”

Y/N was too fast asleep to even hear him, her dreams filled not with the wedding itself, but with the man that she was sharing it with.

And oh what a wonderful dream it was; not one bridal magazine in sight.

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[starker-stories]

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 11

This fic is on a ‘whenever my goddamn muse decides to show up’ update schedule. Every Friday would be nice, muse. But the nice thing is that I have only one more chapter to write, because the last chapter is done. Yes, I know that's a stupid way to write a story. And doing the chapters out of order always messes me up in the end. *sigh*

Oh looky! I made a moodboard!

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “Joy, Beautiful. That’s something you give both of us. Neither of us ever had a lot of that in our lives before you. Heart,” Tony said, drawing a Valentine’s heart over Peter’s. “I know I can’t live without this one. Don’t think Bucky wants to live without it either.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 10: Han and Leia and Chewie

Bucky had already left for the day. He finished his debriefs a few days ago, but Fury was using him to weapons train the new recruits. He was also using him to root out any last bits of HYDRA lurking around SHIELD or elsewhere.

“Baby, c’mere,” Tony said smiling lazily shortly after FRIDAY woke them at eight.

“You’re going to make me miss my ten o’clock class again,” Peter said, putting up only a half-hearted protest as he came out of the bathroom, naked, drying himself off from his shower.

“It’s inorganic chemistry and lab. You can do both of those here with your text and the space I set up for you. I’ll promise to let you out of this bed in time to make your one o’clock differential equations.”

Peter laughed and climbed into bed. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m good at it.” Tony pulled Peter close and kissed him. “This right here,” he said, tangling his fingers through the boy’s damp, springy curls. “A big part of why you got your name, Beautiful. You look like a renaissance painting. Better,” he said, reaching down and cupping Peter’s cock and balls. “They always gave their men small cocks. Not enough for a horny Catholic boy to jerk off to after confession.”

Peter snorted. “You’re Catholic?”

“Was. I guess technically I still am, since you have to write the Vatican and be taken off the rolls. I should do that.”

“Oh no you don’t. I have all sorts of naughty priest/altar boy fantasies to play out.”

“You’re Catholic?” Tony said in disbelief. “Parker’s a pretty WASP name.”

“So’s Stark. But Fitzpatrick isn’t. That was my mom’s name.”

“Well, if the Vatican ever changes…”

Peter laughed.

“We can get married in the Church,” Tony said, grinning.

“Did you just propose to me?”

“Nope. Just speculating. We’re not even out yet, but you did turn eighteen.”

“I’d been thinking about how to do that, but…” Peter sighed. “Things got more complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“I kinda…” Peter hesitated.

“Me too.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say! You always do that!” Peter swatted Tony’s arm.

“You were going to say that you kinda love Bucky more than you thought you did.”

“Dammit Tony!” Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He paused, realizing what Tony said. “You do too?”

Tony nodded. “Is that okay?”

“I was worried about you. You’re very possessive, you know,” Peter teased.

“News to me.” Tony smiled. “I just feel possessive about two of you now. But, while I love Pretty a whole lot more than I ever thought I would… you’re still it for me, Peter.”

Peter leaned up and gave Tony a kiss. “Same. But he’s more than just ‘a bit on the side’.”

“Entirely. Human language is imprecise enough as it is, it never had to deal with stuff like this before. Pair-bonding came along before language did. More efficient for perpetuating the species through child rearing.”

“I am not having kids, Tony. By any means.”

“Fuck no.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. I thought that some day you’d be all like ‘I’m a famous billionaire my name must go on’.”

“I’ll be dead, why would I give a fuck about my name after I’m dead?”

“That’s either massively egotistical or massively not. I can’t figure out which.”

“It’s solipsistic. The world exists as what we experience. What we don’t, doesn’t exist.”

“So no kids. Thank god. But… while I love you so very different from Bucky… us coming out as a couple, that cuts him out.”

“It isn’t what we’ve got here,” Tony agreed. It was his turn to kiss Peter. He took a little longer at it than the kid did. He couldn’t help it. Kissing was another of his fetishes.

“Do you mind waiting?”

Tony shrugged. “You were the one in a hurry.”

“I still am,” Peter said.

“How about ‘it happens when it happens’?”

“And how it happens,” Peter added.

“Meaning?” Tony asked.

“If we get caught as being more than a couple, we don’t deny it.”

“That’s a big step.”

Peter shrugged. “When have you cared what the world thinks?”

Tony chuckled. “Other than legally, I don’t. But I’m not the only one who’s gonna take heat.”

“Table the discussion for now?”

“The three of us can pick away at it. But yeah, it’s gonna take more than just the two of us calling whatever reporter we want and telling them.”

“But you’re really okay?” Peter asked quietly.

“That’s my question,” Tony said and put a kiss on the tip of Peter’s nose. “Me and him… it’s not me and you. But it’s more ‘me and him’ than I thought it would be.”

“You have history with him.”

Tony watched Peter’s face closely. “I have history with you. Longer if you count the time that would’ve got me thrown in jail.”

Peter laughed. “I do count the time that would’ve got you thrown in jail. I saw you looking at my ass entirely inappropriately.”

“Not my fault. You have a fine ass.”

“I had a fifteen year old ass.”

“Fifteen with the body of a much older young man thanks to the spider.”

“’S okay. I forgive you. Means I don’t have to feel guilty about seeing a picture of you stepping out of the suit looking all suave in a tux being the cause of my middle school sexual awakening.”

“I did NOT need to know that,” Tony said laughing. He turned serious again and ran his fingertip along Peter’s arm. “The history thing, that bother you?

Peter thought about it and sighed. “Not the history thing,” he said, biting his lip. “The adult thing. You’re both… and I’m not. I’m scared you’re gonna get tired of dealing with a teenager and want, y’know, a man instead.”

“There’s only one problem with that.”

Peter hummed in question.

“I happen to be entirely, madly, hopelessly in love with a teenager,” Tony said with a kiss.

“And you love Bucky more than you thought you would.” He paused. “He’s in love with you, I don’t care that he said he’s not sure. He is.”

“Yeah, I know. He knows. He told me.”

“Oh.” Peter’s voice was small.

“He also told me that he’s in love with you.”

“I doubt that.”

“You shouldn’t. You give him something he never had, baby.”

Peter’s hummed question sounded doubtful.

“Joy, Beautiful. That’s something you give both of us. Neither of us ever had a lot of that in our lives before you. Heart,” Tony said, drawing a Valentine’s heart over Peter’s. “I know I can’t live without this one. Don’t think Bucky wants to live without it either.”

“I love you,” Peter said.

“I know,” Tony answered, in a certain familiar way.

“Oh fuck you, Han.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of fucking you, Leia,” Tony said, rolling on top of Peter.

Peter grinned. “That makes us Han and Leia and Chewie. Because of the hair.”

Tony let out a high-pitched giggle. Peter took advantage and rolled him over, straddling his thighs. “Princesses get to be on top.” He slid forward to where their cocks were together. Still soft, he took both in his hand and started stroking them.

“Fuck, Pete,” Tony breathed out, his eyes fixed on Peter’s hand and their cocks together. It was a sight that always got to him.

Peter worked his hand up their shafts. Until they were both hard and one hand had to become two. Tony sucked in a sharp breath and his cock leaked enough precome that, mixed with his own, Peter was able to slick his hand to make the glide easier. He shifted his position to bring the heads on a level with each other so he could palm over both at the same time.

“All right, magic lube boy,” Peter said, teasing. He held out his hand, cupped upward. And Tony… like magic, damn him… found the lube under the pillow. “How do I not sleep on that?”

Tony chuckled. “Because you can’t sleep more than six inches away from the arc.” He squeezed a large dollop of lube onto Peter’s upturned palm.

“You have your fetishes,” Peter said, sliding his slick hand over both of them, but mostly over Tony. “I have mine.”

“You wouldn’t love us if we weren’t cyborgs…” Tony broke off his teasing with a sharp breath sucked between his teeth as Peter’s hand smoothed directly over the head of his cock.

Peter stopped touching himself and concentrated on slicking Tony up. He raised on his thighs and crept forward until he wasn’t sitting on Tony’s thighs but holding himself above the man’s cock. He reached behind, his hand circling Tony’s shaft and tried to settle straight down onto him but the angle wasn’t right. They hadn’t done it often with Peter on top, and when they had, Tony was sitting up, helping him.

“Lean forward, baby,” Tony suggested.

He couldn’t see how that would help, but Peter let go of Tony’s cock and started to fall forward. Instead of ending up on top of Tony, the man’s hands stopped his fall, reaching up to spread, palms wide, over Peter’s chest. It was harder to reach back, but when Peter slid down, it was perfect and Tony started to slip easily inside of him.

Peter slowly started to sit more upright, taking more of Tony’s cock into him. Tony moved his hands lower, caressing Peter’s sides firmly, letting him guide himself into position. He settled his hands low on Peter’s narrow waist, just above the boy’s hips, his thumbs slotting into the deep V lines. He didn’t rise up to thrust nor pull Peter down with his hands. He let Peter control everything this time.

“That’s it, Beautiful,” Tony said as Peter started to rise and fall rhythmically, his thighs tensing and relaxing, tight cords underneath smooth skin. Peter was achingly beautiful. His body had been transformed by the spider bite. The muscles, the strength… that was all spider. The flawless pale skin, the grace with which he moved, the way he moaned and his breath caught and then he’d cry out… that was all Peter.

As was the confident, yet experimental, way Peter sought to make himself feel good. Peter’s hands grabbed Tony’s forearms, using them to balance, to push against, sliding down them to find the best angle as he rolled his hips, grinning when, in search of his own pleasure, he’d accidentally made Tony gasp instead. Clenching tightly, rising and then falling with another tight roll of his hips, his eyes were twinkling when Tony’s opened to meet his.

Tony’s revenge was simple. He stopped holding Peter’s waist, leaving the boy to find his own balance, which, frustratingly he did. But when he next rolled forward, Tony’s hands returned to Peter’s chest. He rarely had such an opportunity to appreciate that finely sculpted part of Peter’s body. He ran his palms over the kid’s pecs and his fingers found Peter’s nipples. He started gently rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Peter whimpered. The gentle fondling became pinches and pulls, and Peter’s whimpers were broken and caught on rapidly panting breaths.

He knew what that did to the boy. Peter’s cock was jumping and the rise and fall on Tony’s stuttered. He was trying to plead with Tony but the words wouldn’t come out as anything but gasped letters. Finally, Tony found his hands swatted away with strong pushes to each of his arms. Peter glared at him and Tony wore a smug grin.

“Something wrong, Beautiful?” he teased.

“Yes, you bastard! You are not gonna make me come by playing with my poor abused nipples again!”

Tony chuckled. “You are the only one I’ve ever seen do that. Those cute little things are directly wired to your cock, baby. How can I resist?”

Peter rocked forward with a slow grind of his hips. Tightening around Tony’s cock, he dragged his body up, milking the man. He loosened and fell back down, until he was flat against Tony’s pelvis. With Tony buried all the way inside of him, Peter reached behind and cupped the man’s balls, gently rolling them, giving them a light little squeeze, running a single fingertip, pressing firmly, beneath them. Tony groaned and his eyes closed and his hips rose, trying to push himself deeper into Peter.

“Baby, how can I resist?” Peter said, with a smug grin when he stopped and Tony met his eyes.

Peter leaned forward, holding himself at just the right angle. When he began his rise and fall on Tony’s cock, he rode in short, shallow strokes, having found the perfect position and depth to give himself pleasure.

Tony watched in amazement as Peter earned his nickname. His curly hair was a sweat-damp springy mess, falling forward, clinging to his forehead. His body glistened in the morning light coming through the huge windows of their bedroom. The kid’s muscles… so fucking strong, no strain or falter no matter the fact that they’d been working at his ride. Gracefully, he rolled his body, thighs to shoulders, the shudder arching his back in a belly dancer’s writhe as he gasped.

And Peter’s face… Tony couldn’t concentrate at all on how the kid was making his cock feel, because the kid’s face… dear lord, Tony was lost. Peter’s eyes were closed, the lids smooth and pale, lashes long and, when he’d hit his movements just right, they fluttered like butterfly wings. The pink flush on his cheeks was dark and shining with sweat. The heat of it ran all the way down his neck. But it was his mouth that caught and held Tony’s eye. Slack and parted, his white teeth a line beneath them, his lips were licked and bitten, puffy and glistening from his tongue darting across their swell.

Tony moaned just from looking at his Beautiful. His. Shared, but that didn’t seem to matter because he loved who Peter was shared with. The idea of having his perfect boy beloved, not just by him but by Bucky as well, almost made it better. Knowing that there was another person who would be as stunned by this sight. His reaction to the thought surprised him. He was always so possessive of Peter. But as he watched the boy shudder through another wave of pleasure and his moan become a cry of Tony’s name, he realized he was still just as possessive as ever. Only he possessed two treasures, one Beautiful and one Pretty. They both were his.

“Oh fuck, Peter,” Tony moaned and put his hands on the boy’s hips. Not controlling his rise and fall, just holding, just feeling the heat of Peter’s skin on his fingers. “Baby… oh fuck yes. Go on, Beautiful. Touch that gorgeous, cock of yours. I wanna see your hand on it. You’re so hard. Your cock’s dripping on me. Make yourself come, baby. I wanna see you. I want you all over me. God Peter, you are a sight.”

Peter whimpered as Tony spoke. The man’s voice was husky and low, crooning out words of praise. Peter’s hand wrapped around his cock and he rocked his hips into the circle of it. His ride faltered a moment as he hunted for a new movement that would mix both actions into one irresistible spike of pleasure. His gasp strained with his held breath, body tight with the rise of it, held still at the height of his stroke for what seemed like forever, but was only a moment, before it broke and he fell. “Oh… fuck! Oh… oh… Tony!” He screamed as he came over Tony. Almost immediately he fell on top of the man, shuddering and quaking. Peter slid his arms along Tony’s sides, under his arms, his hands clutching upwards over Tony’s shoulders. This time not a cry, but an almost frightened whisper, “Tony.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, solid, comforting. His cock was still hard as Peter slid off of him to be high enough up his body to bury his face in the crook of his neck. Flat palmed, Tony soothed down Peter’s back. “I have you, Pete. Always have you. Right here, Beautiful. Not ever letting go.” He kissed the side of Peter’s head and he clung almost as tightly to the boy as Peter clung to him, although his strength wasn’t a match. His shoulders would be bruised with little circles from Peter’s fingertips, longer lines from his fingers. He never minded the marks. Tony liked seeing the signs of Peter’s need on his body. His power, but restrained, even as far gone as the boy had been, he still pulled it back.

“Baby, you’re my forever,” he whispered into Peter’s ear. Tony’s fingers carded softly through Peter’s wet and tangled curls. “My forever, Peter.”

“Oh, I love you, Tony,” Peter said, his lips moving over the man’s neck as his body finally began to still. His hand gentled over where the bruises he left would rise on Tony’s shoulder. He was always so frightened of them, afraid that one day he’d hold on too tightly and hurt Tony. But he never did. He didn’t understand how that worked or why. But he never hurt him.

Peter slid up just a little bit more and kissed behind Tony’s ear. He whispered it again. “Baby, I love you.”

Tony’s breath caught. Such a beautiful, fragile, gentle thing in his arms. How could he love him? But Peter found something inside of him that was worth loving. There was still something there.

He rolled them to their sides, messy between them. Tony’s cock softened, forgotten. He reached down, pulling them both up off the mattress for a moment, until he grasped the bedcover and pulled it up over Peter’s cooling body. Laying back down on the bed, his lips found Peter’s. Softly, tenderly, they kissed over and over. Tony sucked that beautiful red, swollen, bitten bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it, licking across it, teasing it’s sensitivity until Peter sighed into his kiss.

At eleven fifteen they were awakened by FRIDAY’s announcement that if Peter wanted to make his one pm differential equations class, he needed to get up and get ready.

Peter smiled and gave Tony a light kiss. “You wake up too or you’re gonna fuck your sleeping up.”

Tony sighed, knowing that Peter was right, even though all he wanted to do was pull that duvet over himself and sleep. “Go get your shower.” He sat up, knowing if he stayed laying down, all his good intentions to wake up would be lost.

“I swear, if I come home and find you asleep…”

Tony laughed. “Nope. Not doing that ever again. You threatened me with ice water before you left and you fucking did it, you menace.” He watched as Peter crawled across his crazy huge bed, which he knew was a crazy huge bed and that’s why he liked it. “Keep wiggling that ass at me and I won’t let you up until time for your three o’clock physics class.”

Peter looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue at Tony, then pushed off with his arms, jumping up and flipping in mid-air until he landed on his feet between the bed and the bathroom. “I cannot miss that class,” he said, heading for the shower.

“Yeah, I know. You better make up that ninety-three on your last test with your final. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me to have a boyfriend who didn’t hit the mark in physics?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tony,” Peter said as FRIDAY turned on the water and he got under it. “You make me want to flunk and then tell my professor that you gave me all the wrong information and the only reason you got your PhD in physics was because you blew your advisor.”

“I did, but my dissertation acceptance had nothing to do with that. Though maybe fucking the dean might’ve helped,” Tony said, flushing the toilet after signaling FRIDAY to not adjust the water temperature for the pressure drop.

Peter’s yelp was extremely satisfying.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

I read your story about Roman and his girlfriend Haley and omfg it shook me to my core. I can’t get over it. I didn’t see that ending coming!!!! Please write about their relationship. What brought them to that point

BROKEN THINGS

Forgot the warnings!!! Trigger warning of abuse, past child abuse, couple of bad words, and general feelings of wtf.

This is the original ask this has sprung from... https://anastasiaskarsgard.tumblr.com/post/189043099276/trigger-warning-like-a-motherfucker

BROKEN THINGS

"Roman?"

Roman’s head whipped in the direction the voice had come from and was relieved to see a familiar face. Getting up, he went to the doctor, grabbing his hands and pulling him to the bed.

"Dr. Pryce. Please… look at her. She… she won't wake up."

The doctor seemed bewildered, and dumbly continued staring at Roman. He had never seen Roman Godfrey act like this before, so afraid, so insecure. But his mute demeanor was enough to snap Roman out of his unusual state. Overcome by rage at the doctor's lack of response, Roman grabbed the man by his collar and threw him towards the bed.

"Don't just stand there, save her!” He yelled in outrage.

The doctor, having gotten his senses back, shot a pitiful look towards Roman and turned his attention to the figure on the bed. As soon as he had done so, a horrified gasp left his lips.

"My god." He uttered in shock. "What… what happened to her?" He asked, his hands frozen above her, unable to decide where to start.

"Don't fucking waste time. Make her wake up." Roman growled from behind him.

"This… this is… oh God." The doctor was panicking much like Roman had upon discovering her condition. His hands roamed her body, pressing here and there. "How did she get in such a condition?" Dr. Pryce inquired, stopping his ministrations and turning towards Roman with accusing eyes.

"That is none of your business." Roman answered. "Just… just help her."

"I can't." Dr. Pryce words caused Romans blood to freeze.

"What… what do you mean?" Roman’s face twisted into a look of complete agony. "Why?" He shrieked, falling to his knees.

"She… she is gone. I can't detect any vital signs. I don't think she's even al-."

"No." Roman cut him off suddenly. "She's alive. She's not dead." An unsettling glint appeared in his eyes as he looked over at Hailey. "She's alive. She can't be dead. She's alive." He moved towards her and placed his finger under her nose. "She'll be fine. Just do your job."

"I-." Dr. Pryce began, but Roman was quick to his feet, towering over the doctor menacingly.

"I don't care what you have to do. You'll help her if you wish to carry on playing mad scientist at the white tower!”

Sighing at the disturbingly familiar words, the doctor turned his attention back to Hailey and took emergency medical equipment out of his small case. He tried to revive her vital, signs, but nothing seemed to be working. It had been too long and she was growing cold.

"Roman.... the equipment I have with me is obsolete in comparison to her condition. I can't do much. I'll have to take her to the tower."

"No." Roman said, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "She'll stay here. And you'll do your job."

"I… I'll try my best, but I can't guarantee anything." The doctor said in defeat, knowing there was nothing he could do once a Godfrey made up his mind. He restarted his efforts to get a response from the unconscious girl. Beside him, Roman prayed. His hands were shaking under her nose, anxious to feel a flicker of breath, a gust of wind. But nothing came. The doctor took out various contraptions from his case and attached them to her. Roman was beginning to panic. His body had moved from shaking to trembling as he struggled to keep his cool.

'She is alive. She is fine.' He kept repeating over and over in his head, giving himself false hope.

‘She is going to be fine. She-' Warm breath hit his finger.

"She's alive!” Roman exclaimed in relief and joy.

Surprised, the doctor checked and confirmed Romans discovery. She was alive… but barely.

Satisfied, Roman moved away from the bed, letting the doctor do as he saw fit. His body had stopped shaking, and he seemed a lot like the normal Roman; cold and stoic. Roman stood behind the doctor, watching like a hawk. After a full hour, the doctor stood straight and turned to Roman.

"Roman, I need to speak to you about her."

"Hurry up." Roman said, eyes still focused on Hailey. The doctor didn't fail to notice his single minded obsessive behavior.

"Roman, I have tried my best to help her, but I could do only so much with what I had with me." Roman sneered, obviously, not wanting to hear any of this. "In my 25 years of practice, I have never seen anyone is such a bad state, not even after a horrible accident. Her state is even worst than your condition after a lesson from your mother."

"We will not speak of that woman." Roman spat venomously. The doctor only sighed.

“You still haven't told me what happened to her." Roman’s response was a glare, but Dr. Pryce had his answer already. "Roman, she is alive, but barely. I have seen cases like this before, not as bad as this, but close enough. And what makes this one different than the others is not the amount of injuries, but the response of the patient.” Roman still had no interest in what the man was saying. To him, Dr. Pryce was wasting time he could be spending with Hailey... Roman glared at the doctor before snapping out, "Just get to the damn point!”

"Other patients fight for their lives. They struggle to be awake. But with her, she welcomes the darkness with open arms." At this, Roman’s eyes widened. What was this idiot man trying to say? Noticing the surprised and curious look on Roman’s face, the doctor continued.

"She had given up." The doctor stated matter of factly.

Roman’s eyes widened in shock. That wasn't true!!! His Hailey was a fighter. She loved life, and she loved him! She'd never deliberately want to leave him. Never!

"You lie." Roman growled.

"No. I'm telling the truth. Her mind didn't make a single attempt to grasp consciousness. It is as if she didn't want to stay alive." He locked his eyes with Roman’s cold ones and said. "Roman..... she wanted to die."

"No." Roman said, the same unsettling glint appearing in his eyes again. "Not Hailey. Not her. She didn't want to die. She won't die. She won't." The expression on his face was of a mental patient. A chill ran through Dr. Pryce at the scary tealization.

"Do you have any clues as to what could cause her to give up at such a young age?" Roman’s eyes hardened immediately.

"As I have said before, it is none of your business. And I think your work is done here. You need to leave."

"Roman, I haven't been in this mansion in several years. But I still remember every one of my visits I made years ago. I remember them. They are memories that haunt me." Dr. Pryce said, his back to the irritated billionaire. "I still remember the day Olivia Godfrey hired me." Roman’s hands curled into fists at the mention of his mother’s name.

“I remember the very first day I was called to this mansion. The beauty, and wealth, the class of it overwhelmed me. But it didn’t last long because then I was led into a small room, where I was shocked by the horror, by the ugliness of what all this beauty hid. A little boy was lying on the bed, bathed in his own blood. His face was swollen, and there were gashes all over his body. His vital signs were present, but very faint. Do you remember that Roman ?" Roman chose not to respond. He remembered it well. It was a daily occurrence for him during his childhood.

"I remember it very well." The doctor continued. "I remember trying my best to secure the life of that little boy, while a little girl cried beside me, begging me to help her big brother, begging me to save him. I remember the injured boy struggling for life, struggling to stay awake, struggling to overcome the pain. I remember it because it is etched in my memory. I can hear the moans of pain of the boy. And I can still hear the sobs of the little girl. I still hear her prayers to save her big brother."

"What the hell are you getting at?" Roman yelled, not appreciating the memories this man seemed hell Bent on bringing back. The truth was that he remembered it all well, but he had pushed all of it back to the dark corners of his mind. And this fucking conversation was bringing back emotions he thought he had lost completely.

The doctor sighed in exasperation, he thought to maybe change directions. “I was a young man, fairly new at my profession. Success and money were my top priorities. My ambition overcame my conscience and I remained silent of what I witnessed on a regular basis. I didn't want to make an enemy of Olivia Godfrey. But over time, my conscience broke me down. My conscience demanded that I help the poor boy. So I offered him my assistance. I offered him my help. Every time I treated the young boy for his injuries, I asked him why he took the abuse? Why didn't he just tell someone? Why did he suffer so much?" The doctor paused to take a deep breath before continuing. "And do you know what the boy answered Roman? Do you remember?" Behind him, Roman gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his control as unwanted memories assaulted his mind.

(Flashback)

"I can help you." A young Dr. Pryce said, wrapping bandage around Roman. The boy winced in pain as the doctor secured the bandage. Immediately, a much younger girl with dark hair and faintly glowing skin, began crying. Roman reached out to her, stroking her hair in a fatherly manner.

"You don't deserve this." Dr. Pryce said, watching the display of affection. "This is inhumane. Even animals aren't treated so harsh."

"Thanks for the offer Dr. Pryce," Roman said, still comforting his little sister, "but I'd rather not do anything at this point."

"Why not?" Roman’s eyes grew misty, as a far away look alighted in them.

“I don't want to do anything at this time. Shelly is your creation and the only bit of light in my world. I must protect her. I must endure whatever punishment my sick bitch of a mother cares to dish out to keep her safe.” A determined look appeared in his eyes. "I will see through it. I won’t have her get lost in a system that will not see beyond her abnormalities. I love my little sister and I'd do anything I can to secure a future for her. Anything." To Dr. Pryce’s surprise, his voice remained exceptionally calm and collected. The young doctor stared at the young boy in front of him with admiration and respect. He marveled at how a young boy could suffer the most harsh treatment from quite literally a monster, and remain so selfless. He feared for the children at his powerful boss’s mercy. Before leaving the two small children huddled together in that dark room, he whispered to them with more conviction and hope than he’d ever uttered before— "I hope you succeed." (End flashback)

"I saw something in that boy that gave me hope and assurance that everything will be fine. I saw strength to withstand the deadliest of storms. I saw courage to face the worst of demons. But most importantly, I saw a kind heart that would never be over shadowed by the darkness of hate and anger because it glowed with love; love for a young sister, love for a better life, love for a brighter future." He turned so now he could look Roman in the eye as he spoke.

"I believed that nothing would taint your heart; nothing would blacken your soul. I believed that all of Olivia’s attempts to turn you into her son were futile." A pause during which Roman breathed harshly while the doctor struggled to keep his voice calm. "But I was mistaken. I underestimated Olivia and overestimated you. I see the results of my mistake now and it pains me to see that you are exactly what Olivia had wanted you to become."

"SHUT UP!” Roman screamed, advancing towards the other man. "Just shut up. You don't know what you are talking about. Shut up."

"I WON’T shut up." Dr. Pryce raised his voice for the first time, standing up to face the monstrous wrath of Roman Godfrey. "I followed that path for the past 20 years and made the worst mistake of my life. I let that little boy down. I was a selfish bastard But I won't make the same mistake again. I won't let you destroy this girl, like your mother destroyed you."

"You don't know her. You don't know anything about her."

"I know she is an innocent girl who is a victim of your anger, of your disturbing past, of your lonely present, and of your possibly bleak future." The doctor said, unfazed by Roman’s anger. "I know you were the one who brought her to this state. I know it was you who did that to her! You are the one who caused her to give up on life and embrace death. You really are Olivia Godfrey’s son, Roman Godfrey."

"No." Roman said in a somewhat horrified tone, more to himself than to the doctor. "That's not true. It can't be true. I am not like her. I'm nothing like Olivia."

“Just look at yourself." The doctor yelled in frustration. "Look at the poor girl who lies half-dead in bed because of your rage and then look at yourself in the fucking mirror. Look at yourself and tell me what you see. Do you see a monster that nearly killed an innocent girl? Do you see Someone who pushes everyone away from him to be alone? Do you see Someone who only cares for himself? Someone who is feared and despised? Someone who is so powerful that he answers to no one? Tell me!” Roman had no answer. He had no response.

"Olivia turned you into a monster while I watched at the sidelines. I watched and did nothing. But I won't stand silent any more. I won't let another Olivia or Roman be born. Or see another countless soul crushed by your family’s cruelty. I won't."

"You can't take her away from me." Roman said, standing protectively in front of the bed where she lay. "I won't let you." The doctor stared at Roman long and hard. He watched the faint glint of something dangerous linger in his cold eyes. But he wasn't quite sure what it was. Grabbing his case, he began walking down the stairs, leaving a shaking Roman behind.

"I will come again tomorrow to check on her." He yelled back down the hall. "And if I see another scratch on her body, I'll report it to the authorities."

Roman watched the man leave, his eyes focused on his resolute frame. As soon as he was out of sight and the door shut, he turned and ran back to Hailey. A wave of relief flooded him with just one look at her. She was still there, lying in his bed, still with him. She was covered in bandages, with an IV tube connected to her arm. He moved towards her to touch her, to hold her but stopped short.

'I know she is an innocent girl who is a victim of your rage.' Dr. Pryce’s words echoed in his head and he immediately took a step back.

'Look and tell me what you see.' He didn't know what compelled him to follow the doctor's words, but before he knew it, his feet were carrying him to the dressing table mirror. He stood before it, staring at himself. Beside him, he would see the image of Hailey, lying still, yet struggling to stay alive.

'You are the one who caused her to give up on life and embrace death. You really are Olivia Godfrey’s son, Roman Godfrey.'

"No." He said, staring at his reflection. "It's not true. I'm nothing like her. I'm nothing like that monster." His eyes darted back to Hailey’s figure and for a second, he felt like he was staring at a younger version of himself lying in the same state. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

He saw his reflection change from his to a familiar one and he found himself staring at the face of his mother, his enemy. Desperately, he tried to wipe that reflection off the mirror, but his attempts were futile. That image remained, laughing at his misery, mocking his very existence. He slammed his head into the mirror, shattering it.

"No. I'm not her." He said again and rubbed his palms on his eyes, trying to erase the image, but the same face stared back at him, even when his eyes were closed.

There was no denying it.

It was crystal clear.

He used to be the one on the receiving end of such inhuman abuse, but now he was the one dishing it out.

He was the one who was doing exactly what Olivia had done to him years ago.

He was following in Olivia’s footsteps.

He was becoming someone he hated, someone he swore to never resemble in any way!

He was becoming his mother.

He was becoming everything she wanted him to be.

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

because I don’t know what I’d do without you

Spoiler-free. Post SMHC. 

//

"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

"Uh," Peter flings another web, "Karen, don't pick that up. Text Mr. Stark and tell him I'm at Ned's—no, doing homework—er, something."

"Message to Tony Stark sent."

Peter sighs, hoping that will hold off his mentor for a few more minutes while he chases down the masked men. He slings himself from building to building, keeping the black car below in his line of vision.

"Mr. Parker, your location is currently being tracked by Tony Stark."

"Shit—shoot—scramble the signal. I just need ten more minutes to—h-hey, Mr. Stark!"

The face of Iron Man appears in the left corner of his screen.

"Oh, you did not just try to scramble the tracking signal that I, the world's most underpaid babysitter, specifically installed for you."

Peter tried to keep his breathing even as he kept bouncing from building to building, conjuring up an excuse for being in the suit.

"See, Mr. Stark," he started before he was promptly cut off.

"Unh-uh. Nope. No tinkering with the ridiculously expensive toy I stupidly gave you and absolutely no turning it against me," he paused, "Karen that goes for you too."

Peter tries to think of something to say to defend himself, but his hesitation prompts Tony to continue.

"Comprende, kid? Karen, translate 'comprende' for him."

"Certainly. Comprende is a Spanish word meaning, 'do you understand'?"

"Oh, and yea, I saw the grade you made on that Spanish test last week. Don't think we're not going to have a chat about that later."

"Yes sir," he groans, straining to see the car as the sky around him grows darker.

The call ends abruptly and with no further questioning on Peter's whereabouts, much to his surprise. He doesn't even register the goosebumps on his arm because he's promptly searching for the van again.

"Crap," he says, squinting his eyes into the busy streets below.

Then he sees it. Peter follows the car down a side street and into an empty alley, but six alien guns are trained on him the moment he swings himself into view. It's an ambush.

"Hey Karen, I think some of those Taser webs would come in handy right about now."

In a split second his hands are up, and his eyes reflexively snap shut as an enormous jolt of electricity stuns the crew in the alley, their bodies shaking as the weapons drop to the ground.

His eyes open tentatively and train on the incapacitated criminals in front of him, "Whoah, that was awesome!"

"You b-bastard," one of the men behind the masks manages to sputter out as Peter starts webbing up the weapons and moves them safely out of reach.

"Hey now, I don't think that kind of language is—," but he's cut off by a voice from behind him.

"I think our friend was talking to me, kid."

Tony would have paid for a framed picture of the look on Peter's face as he turned around because, even with the mask on, it was priceless.

"Homework, was it?" He asks a still-stunned Peter before turning his attention to the men in the alley.

"Alright ridiculously generic bad guys," a suit-clad Stark pauses, looking the crew up and down, "I mean ski masks? Really?"

A man spits at Iron Man's feet, and Tony rolls his eyes in glorious fashion before grabbing Peter by the collar.

"As fun as this has been, it's giving me wicked flashbacks to the plot of every single bland movie Rhodey has ever conned me into watching."

He points his thrusters toward the ground and the suit flies into the sky, cradling a protesting Spider-Man in its arms.

"Mr. Stark, we can't just leave them there!"

"Relax kid, the Tasers will keep them occupied until the police get there. Believe it or not, but they are qualified to take care of criminals."

Peter huffs and squirms against the metal suit.

"Kid, do you want to be scraped off the streets of New York?"

"You're carrying me like a baby!" Peter whines, still wriggling in Tony's grasp.

"What's that phrase that parents use all the time? Act like a child and I'll treat you like one?"

Peter finally gives in and relaxes, the Avengers Tower in sight.

"Mr. Stark, I had it under control."

Tony’s feet hit the landing pad of the tower and he unceremoniously drops Peter onto the ground before stepping out of the suit.

"Oh, right, silly me. I forgot that walking straight into six giant guns is a controlled scenario," Peter opens his mouth in an attempt to counter him but the older man isn't done.

"I'm not much of a gambler, but in a game of teenage mutant vs. alien weapons, I'm not betting the beach house on you. I don't care if those goons look like they're straight out of a Home Alone movie." Tony walks through the glass doors, leaving Peter no choice but to follow.

"I don't need a babysitter, Mr. Stark. When are you going to just trust me? I can handle myself out there. If you would've just given me five more minutes I w—."

"Five more minutes and I might've been sending Happy's ass down there to clean spider guts off of the brick wall! This is the third time this week that you've been in over your head kid."

"Stop calling me a kid!" He yells, hating how horribly childlike the sound is coming from his mouth.

"I'm the adult. Until you can drive yourself to school instead of taking the magic school bus, I reserve the right to call you kid. And as long as you're a kid and I'm an adult, I make the rules, which means no more patrolling for the rest of the week."

Tony cringes a bit at his own words, but he's watched that kid literally stare down the barrel of a gun too many times. Peter may be superhuman, but he's not invincible, and Tony isn't taking any more chances.

"You can't do that! I need to patrol, or people are going to get hurt!"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Adult," he says, pointing to himself, and then he turns his finger toward Peter, "and kid. I make the rules here, and I say no more patrolling for the rest of the week. You keep talking back and I'll make it two weeks."

"You're not my dad!" The words blurt out of Peter's mouth before he's even aware of them.

Tony stops breathing, his body rigid and his heart racing as he stares straight at Peter. Silence hangs thickly in the air.

Peter's voice is wobbly, softer, as he repeats, "you're not my dad." He blinks quickly to suppress the wetness in his eyes and bites his cheek to hold back a hoarse sob.

Tony is glued to the spot, arms and legs frozen, eyes looking like something on a spectrum between a deer in headlights and a kicked puppy.

He doesn't react as Peter walks to the door, wrist aimed at the sky before disappearing into the dark.

It takes a whole seven minutes for the never-fazed Tony Stark to regain his surroundings.

The kid is right—he's not his father. Hell, if Peter ever called him 'dad' he'd probably shit his pants. And yet his chest hurt in a way that even the shrapnel from all those years before couldn't even begin to compare to.

Tony doesn't know what he wants or needs to say, but he needs to say something, or scream, or just collapse. His breathing comes back now, rapid and shallow. The more he thinks the faster he breathes and he doesn't realize he's having a panic attack until he's in the middle of it.

His feet start moving toward the window to the spot where the boy in blue and red had vanished just minutes before. He only has to spread his arms before the Iron Man suit gracefully conforms to his body.

Tony finds Peter on a rooftop in Queens. The emotional haywire has the boy's senses working on overdrive, and he hears him coming long before the billionaire takes the seat next to him.

Peter's been crying, not even trying to conceal wet traces of tears on his cheeks. The anger and frustration he felt earlier is gone now, replaced by strong pangs of guilt and a terrible feeling of emptiness.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Tony finds his voice.

"Look kid—Pete," he quickly corrects, "I don't want to be your dad."

The words pierce Peter, his worst fear beginning to come to life; Tony telling him he doesn't want to be a part of his life. No more helping with projects in the shop, no more conferences at MIT, no more pizza dinners.

Tony hears a muffled sound come from Peter, and then sniffling.

"No—I mean—I don't want to replace your father. Or Uncle Ben. I will never and can never be for you what they were, and I wouldn't want to. They are both one-hundred times the man I am. So, I'm sorry, if that's how I've been acting, because those guys are special Pete, and I don't want to overstep."

Peter doesn't even take a breath before he starts rambling a barely coherent response.

"No, no, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that—I didn't mean it. I was just, you know, this week is one year since... since my powers, and, you know, Ben’s... I should've stopped it. I could've stopped it, I was just, I have these powers and I didn't use them, and then someone I loved died. And that's why I was out late, because I can't stop patrolling, I just can't."

His voice is taut and brittle, and Tony turns his body to face him.

"Peter, you can't hold onto that guilt. The moment you start blaming yourself for people's deaths... there's no coming back."

The vision cast on him by Wanda comes screaming through Tony's mind, the faces of his friends lying dead around him, then, the video of his parents brutally murdered on the side of the road.

Peter's wide eyes look up at him, and for the first time Tony notices the redness in his waterline and the puffiness under his lashes.

"I have nightmares sometimes, and I just watch Ben fall to the ground over and over and over again, and it's all my fault. I can't let go of the guilt, Mr. Stark. Please don't be mad at me, because I—I know I have May, and I love May, she's my whole world, and—and you're not my dad," Peter visibly winces, "I know made that abundantly clear earlier... but you're the closest thing I have, and I don't know what I'll do if I lose that too. I can't lose that too."

It kills Tony to see the hurt in Peter's eyes, to see how the pain in his eyes betray the fact that he's only fifteen because he's already been dealt more blows than most people are in an entire lifetime.

"Peter, I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You and I, we have a lot more in common than I want to admit sometimes. It's why I like you so much," Peter gives a ghost of a smile at this, "and also why I'm out of my mind with worry sometimes. I see myself in you, which is absolutely petrifying. I wouldn't wish the pain or guilt that comes with losing the people who mean the world to you on Satan himself, let alone you."

"I know that feeling of emptiness, of guilt, of needing to do whatever it takes to try and fill that space and to lift some—even just a fraction—of that weight off of your chest. And I know that, if you're as much like me as I think you are, no amount of me telling you to let go of the guilt is ever going to make actually letting go of it any easier, so I'm not going to make you stop patrolling. But, maybe meet me halfway and call me before you throw yourself into the middle of a gun show?"

Peter grins, nodding his head up and down as Tony throws his arm over his shoulders.

"Because I don't know what I'll do if I lose you either kid."

Peter just buries his head into the older man's shoulder, and they sit like that until Tony finally interrupts.

"And Pete? Don't think this means I forgot about that Spanish test."

[elena-reina]

Another Night - Tony Stark x Reader

Request: the reader gets into a fight with tony stark and storms out of his room. Later, she gets in trouble and tony saves her. btw i love your work. - Anon

Warning: Sexual innuendos, cursing, violence

Y/N: Your name

You sat at Tony's bar and rolled your eyes as you took a sip of your drink, hearing moans coming from Tony's bedroom. Tony likes to uphold this reputation he has, which is being the famous billionaire playboy. He brings a girl home about every other night and basically fucks them. Tony doesn't like to be tied down to exactly one person. He likes to be, in his words, a free and angelic butterfly. "T-TONY!" the unfortunate girl moaned. You scrunched up your nose in disgust and downed the rest of your drink. Pepper walked into the room with a sympathetic look on her face. She poured a drink for herself and sat down next to you. "Another night of torture listening to them, hm?" she said smiling a bit, trying to lighten the mood.

You let out a little laugh and nodded. "I mean, I respect Tony and all, but what he does is despicable. The girls he bring over every night think they are different and that Tony will actually accept them as his one and only; just to be disappointed later in the morning." "I know, but there's not really much you can do," she shrugged and began to stare off into space. You silently nodded your head and stood up, placing your glass on the counter. You bid your goodnight's to Pepper and headed off to bed. You tuned out all the sounds coming from Tony's room, by stuffing your head under your pillow and eventually fall asleep.

Next morning, a loud slam was heard throughout the whole tower. You immediately gasped, waking up, and fell off of your bed. You hit the floor with a thud and groaned, rubbing the side of your head. 

What the hell was that slam for?

"Are you kidding me, Tony?!" a feminine voice yelled. 

You slowly stood up and opened walked to your bedroom door. You walked out of it yawning and scratching your head. As the shouting and yelling were becoming louder, you stood at the end of the hallway, crossing your arms over your chest and observed everything. Pepper was awkwardly, gazing out the window, but you knew she was secretly listening in on what's causing all the ruckus. "You didn't feel anything?!" the woman shouted at Tony. Tony chuckled, finding this situation amusing. "Not a single thing," he smirked, but then grew serious, "What else did you think we were doing? We weren't as you say making love, we were just fucking." The way Tony phrased it made you a tad mad, but you remained silent. The woman looked to be taken back by his words as if he'd shot her with countless bullets. Her eyes were glossing over, but a tear never fell down her face... yet. "Just fucking?! You're telling me you didn't actually like me and just wanted to get into my pants?" she spat. "Well when you put it that way, it sounds awful. But in short words, yep," he grinned, taking this all like a joke. "You're unfucking believable! You treat me as if I was a sex toy for you!" she yelled, stalking closer to Tony. "With the way you acted in bed last night, I'd say you could totally be one," he smirked. Her mouth was agape and she slapped him across the face. She picked up her bag and stormed out of the room. 

You looked at Tony with such a flabbergasted face. What he said was unnecessary and uncalled for. I mean, sure she was a slut, but she is still a human being. He was treating her as if she was some dog and just dehumanizing her. You crossed your arms and stomped towards Tony. "Was the really necessary, Tony?" you asked, raising your eyebrow. "She thought she was someone special. She's not," he said rolling his eyes and turned to face you. You let out an annoyed laugh, shaking your head, and licked your lips. "Seriously? Are you seriously saying that? She's still fucking human Tony! She has real emotions!" you spat. Pepper gave a light gasp as she was still observing everything. She went to the bar and poured herself a drink to watch this scene unravel. "Why are you getting so worked up about this, it has nothing to do with you," he glared. "Why am I getting so worked up about this? Because I hate the way you are discriminating women. You are treating us as if we are some kind of mutt! She definitely deserved better than the way you were treating her. I know you may not know what it's like to actually think you're in love with someone, but she thought otherwise," you scoffed. You could tell he was getting furious by the creases forming on his forehead. That always happened when he was getting pissed off. "And what exactly would you know about love, Y/N? Every boy you tried confessing to turned you down and only used you," he smirked. 

Your mouth dropped open in astonishment. One night when your ex-boyfriend was abusing you, you ran away into Tony's arms where he comforted you. You spilled all your secrets and insecurities to Tony, expecting him to be reliable and respectful with them. However it turned out he just used them against you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him with distraught. 

"I can't fucking believe you," you whispered under your breath. And then that's when you totally lost it. You didn't care if you said any hurtful things to Tony, he had just crossed the line with you. "Cat got your tongue?" he teased. "You know what Tony? This is why you're going to live such a fucking lonely life. Sureeee, you've got a wonderful tower you call a home, billions of dollars, and who knows what else; but do you know what you don't have and never will? A loving father. Excuse me, but who was the one who never felt loved by their own father?" you paused as you watched him tense up and his fists clenching. 

But you continued.

"Oh that's right! It was you! The very famous Anthony Edward Stark! The boy who was neglected as a child and had his parents die from a fatal car crash, leaving him all by his poor, pitiful, self! And I guess you're right. I might not know what true love is, but I got to know a parental's love and an almost romantic love. But that's something you will never experience because one: Your parents are dead and two: You're nothing but a fucking man whore- " Your face jerked to the right as you could hear Tony's heavy breathing. His hand was still raised as he looked at you lividly. You slowly turned your head to look at him. 

He slapped you. 

His eyes were teary from the words you said to him. Your cheek stung, badly, from where he slapped you. You could feel it heating up and you carefully brought your hand to touch it, gently. You winced as you touched it. This was the exact last thing you ever thought Tony would do. You never thought he'd lay a finger on a woman, especially you. Tony didn't move, apologize, or show any guilt. That's when you've finally hand enough. You don't believe in violence and you absolutely refuse to let him see you cry. "Fine, Anthony. Since this is how you're going to act, I don't ever want to see you again. And just to think, I actually thought you were different than my last boyfriend," you muttered and rushed away to your room. You quickly changed out of your pajamas and into casual clothing. You grabbed your purse, slung it over your shoulder, and stormed out of your his room. When walking back to the living room, Tony was still in the same spot. He watched you the whole way as you sped-walked to the elevator. You waited impatiently for the doors to open, but it seemed to be taking forever. "Y/N... don't go. He didn't mean anything, he's just angry," Pepper pleaded, getting up out of her seat and towards you.   You shook your head as the doors finally opened. Tears were now slowly traveling down your face but you quickly wiped them away with the back of your wrist. "Sorry, Pepper. But I actually thought I had feelings for that bastard over there and was able to trust him with my secrets; but it turns out he's like every other man out there," you replied shrugging and stepped into the elevator. You pushed on the first floor button and waited for the doors to close. "Bye, Pepper," you said. Right before the doors were about to close, your eyes clicked with Tony's.

A month later, you laid there on your couch back at your original home. You've always had this home, but ever since Tony had invited you to stay at his place, you couldn't resist. You were originally going to sell this place, but thank goodness you didn't. Pepper has called you countless times saying how terrible Tony is doing. Apparently, Tony is acting worse than before. Ever since your fight, he hasn't brought any girls over, however he's been drinking a lot more than usual lately. He drinks until he is over the top drunk, bawls his eyes out, and then crashes asleep. In his sleep, he kept murmuring your name with countless apologies, but when Pepper would confront him about it, he'd deny it. Pepper knows that Tony had grew feelings for you over time, but never got him to confess it. He would always brush it off or refuse to talk about it. However, late at night when Pepper thought he was asleep in bed, he was actually looking at photo's he took of you. You refused to believe it and still do. Today however, the town was in danger again. Loki escaped from the Avenger's prison cell and was terrorizing the city again. Initially, you had helped him get caught by the Avengers by leading him into a trap. 

You were originally going to go out to get some bread for your home, but ever since watching on the news everything that's happening, you decided to stay inside to avoid all the chaos. 

The newsman was able to get hold of Tony and was interviewing him on the spot. His eyes looked bloodshot and eyes a bit crusty. He had a few scratches here and there on his face, but it was covered mostly by his suit. However, his suit also did have quite the damage. "Actually, there's just one thing I have to say real quick," Tony said into the microphone," Everyone needs to stay in their house or find some kind of refuge. Stay out of sight... and... Y/N, if you're watching-" You picked up the remote and turned off the television. You didn't want to hear it before and you don't want to hear it now. You sighed as you stood up as you about to walk to the kitchen. However suddenly someone crashed into your home having you quickly duck behind the counter in your kitchen. Your chest was heaving up and down as you  could hear the person stepping on the rubble they've just created. Your heart was pounding against your chest as you put your back against the counter so who ever it was couldn't see you. "I was told that the person who had imprisoned me, lived here," a familiar male voice spoke. Fear was rising in your chest as you could hear the person getting closer. "Maybe not," he paused and then the person seemed to fade away. You waited a few minutes before letting out a breath of relief. "Or maybe they are," the person spat, suddenly grabbing onto your throat and hauling you up. You gasped at you stared back into those demonic blue eyes. Loki. But how did he find you?! You quickly tried reaching for your phone to message the Avengers, but he kicked it away. You gripped his hands trying to pry them away from your throat but was unsuccessful. "L-Loki! Stop!" you choked. "I was in there for so many years! Plotting on my revenge on who to get first and why not begin with the person who started it all for me?!" he screamed into your face. 

You flinched at his tone and looked at him with pleading eyes. You quickly lifted your foot and kicked him where the sun doesn't shine. His grip loosed and you were able to get free as he doubled over in pain. You quickly ran to your now destroyed wall and ran outside. Circulating the city, as he always does, was Tony. You quickly looked behind you and could see Loki coming your way. You panicked as he was coming closer, looking as livid as ever.  It was now or never before Tony was out of sight. "TONY!" you yelled. "TONY, HELP! LOKI-" A hand clasped over your mouth and pulled you back inside. You fought and kicked with your legs, struggling to get free. "You will utterly regret that," he spat as he reached for his scepter. Your eyes widened and tears were collecting in your eyes. This was it, Tony hadn't heard you and you were about to die- "Let her go right now and I might just consider sparing your life," Tony threatened, now standing on top of the rubble, "I'm giving you one second to do so." Loki smirked. "You see-" "One." Tony raised his hand and shot a beam towards Loki. You gasped as Loki threw you to the side, having you hit your head with a groan in pain. Loki shot back and lost his scepter. He groaned, about to reach for it, when Tony punched him square in the jaw until he passed out. You sat up rubbing your head as Tony made his way to you. He knelt down and held you in his arms. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so so sorry for what I said back at the tower," he apologized. 

You could see the sincerity in his eyes but you wanted to give him a hard time. You wanted to look away, avoiding his eyes, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. He literally just saved your life. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, lightly crying. He wrapped his arms around you pulling you closer muttering his apologies over and over. You pulled away, looking at him with sad eyes. "It's alright, Tony. I'm sorry for what I said about your father. I-I was mad and I wasn't thinking straight, and so I- He pressed his lips against yours to shut you up from your babbling. He already knew you didn't mean it and was just upset at the time. "I never thought that I would be falling for my best friend, but I guess I did," he smiled, pulling away, “I can prove to you I'm not like your boyfriends if you just give me one more chance. I can really love you." You pressed your hand to your chin, pretending to think about it. "I don't know," you smirked," Perhaps if you remodel my home, and buy me some bread-" "Shut up, you’re going back to the tower to be with me," he grinned and pressed his lips against yours once more. You squealed as you cupped his face, pulling him closer.