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th3sp4rr0w · 1 year

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Day Nine

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Nine Scar Reveal/Interrogation/Presumed Dead

Alt. Prompt For Day Nine Forced Feeding

Prompts Used for Day Nine All

Tw's; Medical Talk, Dubious Medical Accuracy, Slight Pregnancy Termination Mention (It Did Not Happen)

Chapter Nine under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the island was like a breath of fresh air. It was like having hope for the first time since he had done what he did.

Talia landed the plane flawlessly. Jason’s heart rate leveled out on the plane ride there. There were no bleeds, spikes, drops, nothing.

He’d hovered over his boy the entire time. He deserved to have someone looking out for him even if it was too late .

The bat unhooked the monitors and oxygen. The I.V.’s and nasogastric tube stayed in place as he wheeled him out of the plane. Talia lead the way as they walked through this island’s base doors, leading him to where the Lazarus pit had formed.

Talia could tell he wasn’t himself. She didn’t see how he could be; though he hadn’t officially lost him, she couldn’t imagine having to deal with Damian in that condition for this long.

It was like it was her own kid lying on the cot. How else could she have felt? He was still so young, had been through so much at his tender age. She pretended she didn’t see the irony as she thought of her own son, the weapons he always kept on him, acting like a shield. As a teenager, even well into her adulthood, she’d never thought of how small children really were. How fragile. How vulnerable. It wasn’t even having her son that had woken her up.

It took her beloved’s child getting so, so very broken and bruised for her to realize. She imagined any of the moments that her child’s life had been in danger. She wondered what she would’ve done if she didn’t have the pits to rely on. It made her chest tighten.

She knew if she tried to hide him away, she’d never rest. The moment he was conceived he was doomed to have an abnormal life. It was utterly pathetic. She was constantly scolding Bruce for being too weak; she wondered if her own lack of strength had caused her child pain. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew the answer.

Their reliance on the pits had been a mistake. Without it, they were nothing.

The walk had been both longer and shorter than they anticipated. Bruce’s impatience had shown through, the grunts and hums present in his normal vocabulary upped to a ridiculous level. In a way, she understood.

We all had things that kept us sane when things fell apart.

The green sludge bubbled. Bruce stood there, staring at it for a moment before pulling a syringe from one of his infinite pockets. She watched in muted... astonishment? Horror? As he removed the cap.

She watched him kneel down in front of the pit, sticking the needle in the sea of green. She folded her arms behind her to keep herself from reacting as he pulled on the plunger. Green liquid flowed into the barrel of the syringe in perfect synch with the rubber stopper. She watched him tap the syringe to get the air bubbles at the top, placing two fingers on the finger flange and his thumb on the rest to push out the air. He only stopped when there was a small spurt of green.

He walked over to the cot.

At first, she thought he was going to inject it all at once into his vein. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking. This was what he wanted; it didn’t matter that it was incredibly idiotic -

He grabbed the primary I.V. bag , pulling it towards him while it was still on the hook. He took a hold of the secondary tubing. He inserted the needle into the small opening. He pressed gently on the plunger.

Her insides felt cold. How was this better than dunking the poor boy into the pits?

The green bloomed outwards as it was added to the bag. She watched as it curled and spread, infecting the clear bag with a radioactive glow. She’d always known the pits would emit its own light, beautiful and deadly, but this truly put it into perspective. The bag now positively glowed like it was full of kryptonite. She could see when it started going into the tube attached to the boy’s arm. Bruce agitated the bag to mix it up and within minutes, Jason’s small face was lit up with the green glow. Seeing it like this made it feel every bit as dangerous as it was. She had always known the pits weren’t to be messed with, but it truly sunk in at that moment.

They both watched him. At some points, the horror of what he’d just done washed over her and she couldn’t stand seeing the boy with the glowing vein where it had started to pour into his body. She found her eyes trailing over the zebra plush Bruce had carefully tucked beneath his arm.

Over the next few minutes, they could see some improvements. Wounds began to close and scab. She could swear if she looked too long at his exposed legs she could see nerve and muscle stitch itself together. She never had questioned how it did that, but watching it like this? The slow process demanded patience as they stood, waiting for answers. Talia was certain this might’ve been the most reckless thing the bat had ever done.

Somewhere in her, she knew she should probably be concerned about the near-manic, desperate look on Bruce’s usually stoic and expressionless face. If this didn’t work, she feared it might break him. He was already on the cliffs edge, wandering toes curling off and begging to freefall as it was.

It took an hour for the I.V. to nearly empty into Jason’s veins. Neither said anything during the process. Bruce worked silently, prepping another bag in advance. This time, he gently shook it until it was one homogenous glow. He attached it to a new I.V. line, unscrewing his old one from the extension set. Once the new one was in place, he allowed it to creep into Jason’s body.

She couldn’t believe it was working. She had been here for a long time, and she had never seen anything like this in her life. Never had someone thought of injecting the pits into their veins, not even her father. She supposed that a parent would do or try anything for their kid. It was what made her certain that her boy would be safe when he went to live with Bruce.

They were almost finished with the new bag when it happened.

His body had mostly, miraculously, healed. She suspected he’d been dosing the boy with sleeping medications to keep him asleep for the entire infusion. She had been staring at him, the constant rise and fall of his chest, counting his breaths. His breathing had been gradually slowing down before it stopped all at once.

She hadn’t had to alert Bruce. He swore loudly and rushed into action, checking his pulse and starting CPR. Talia counted the minutes in her head, knowing he would never do it. Never know when to call it.

Each pump of the boy’s chest left her more on edge. Any damage done would be another injury to add to the list. Another thing that they’d have to heal. She watched Bruce desperately attempt to revive his son. It... it was a fruitless effort.

They both knew it when the bat leaned away. There was no choice now.

“Beloved, give him here,” she said softly. “We’ll see if the pit-”

“Shut up,” he said softly. He never took his eyes off him.

“Beloved-”

“You wanted this to happen.”

She reeled back as if she was struck. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted to have credit for saving him,” he breathed. “You know the pits do nothing for those already dead-”

“He still has time,” she insisted. “Just let me-”

“No!” he shouted, finally turning to look towards her. “YOU wanted credit for saving him! YOU admitted you had something to tell me one day! YOU were the one to suggest this and now-”

“I did no such thing,” her voice was dangerous. “I thought you could handle this. I was willing to let you do it your way, and this is how-”

“Please, you just wanted to gloat about-”

“Shut it,” she hissed. If he wanted a fight?

“If I had my way, I’d have taken Jason here without you.”

She’d give him one.

“I would have dropped him off like nothing had ever happened. I changed my mind because I thought you’d want to be here for your child; instead, you took over things you had no business to be taking over,” her voice was stiff as she continued, “Clearly, I should have stepped in a long time ago. You did this to him, Bruce. You did.”

Bruce’s eyes were hard. She was certain if it wasn’t for their history that she’d be lying on the floor. “You don’t have kids. Do you have any idea what it’s like to worry about them? To see them hurt like this?!” his voice was raised. His words felt like a slap in the face.

“Shut up, Bruce. You don’t deserve them-”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Do not put words in my mouth,” she barked, “This is your mistake. Now let me fix-”

“No! No, this wasn’t a mistake, Talia. You did this to him! He’s only fifteen , for gods’ sake!”

“I am well aware of how old he is-”

“You don’t know anything about him!”

“And you do?”

The fight carried on, raised voices covering the soft noises that had started coming from the boy.

He wheezed and coughed. He tried to sit up and that’s when Talia noticed him.

The “J” on his cheek glowed green. The scars on his hands and legs looked smooth but were a noticeably different color. He was still wheezing. She had to do something.

It had to be her because Bruce had just collapsed to his knees. It had to be her and it had to be quick because his too-blue eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head, think, Talia, think-

In a stroke of genius, she remembered one of the decorative vases they had laying near the entrance of the room. She ran for it, coming back and scooping up the green waters. She carried the cup of bubbling liquid to Jason’s cot and coaxed him to drink, forcing it into his mouth and making him swallow.

A chunk of his bangs turned white. She barely noticed as she continued to make him drink.

His breathing evened out. The green glows in his body faded, though the scars looked positively irritated. She couldn’t imagine it was comfortable, but unless Bruce wanted to hook him up to another I.V. bag she didn’t think they’d be fading anytime soon.

The zebra had fallen wayside in the heat of the moment. To do anything but stare at each other in shock, she picked it up from the floor and dusted it off. She carefully placed it in his lap and backed away slowly.

He reached for it, looking at it for a moment. A keening sound came from his throat. “Papa?”

The bat had been silent and wide-eyed on the floor until that moment. He stood up and fussed over his son, cupping his cheeks gently, whispering to him and reassuring him when he began crying that he’d lied and hid things and-

Talia felt like she shouldn’t be there, especially after the way they had screamed at each other. She did her job; he was healed. He would survive. She doubted he’d like that scar, but there were cosmetic fixes they could probably look into if he wanted. It definitely wasn’t as good of a job as it would be if she’d been allowed to just dunk the boy, but-

“Talia?” she heard his small voice ask. “Papa? What happened?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “You... you got hurt, Jason. Really hurt,” he said.

She refrained from scoffing. There was no sense in lying to the child; he was fine now, wasn’t he? It’s not as if he was still at risk of passing-

“Don’t lie,” he said, voice small. He played with the mane of the zebra.

Watching them interact made her heart ache. She was sick of revelations and hurt; she wanted to get this over with so she could deal with these pesky thoughts and emotions on her own time. Or, better yet, overbook herself so she didn’t have to deal with them at all. An Al Ghul should not be allowing themselves to have such weaknesses, after all.

She spoke before Bruce got another chance. “I heard of what happened. The rumors were that Robin was barely alive after an encounter with your so-called ‘Crime Prince’. I decided I needed to check on you myself.”

She wanted to tell him everything. The injury logs she had helped herself to, the report Bruce had typed up, his seizure, that terrifying moment when they thought him to be deceased. She had always been taught to give every detail; every shred of information as to learn from their mistakes. Second chances were hardly given out; in her world, you were lucky to get a chance to begin with. Understanding your failings was imperative to ensuring they never happened again.

She looked at him and saw the terrified look in his eye. Bruce had crawled onto the cot to cradle him in his arms, kissing his temple. He had smoothed his features to not look as stoic. He was leaving it up to her. Her eyes trailed back to the zebra Jason was clutching in his lap.

“I found you near comatose. After offering my help to Bruce, he agreed we’d take you to the pits. Your father did not want to dunk you in fully, as he feared that would be too traumatic. Instead, we administered small doses at a time through an intravenous fluids line. When you awoke, you had not fully healed yet. It was a risk, but I feared causing you more harm if nothing was done. I poured some of the waters down your throat.”

Jason nodded. “I almost died,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Talia saw no need to correct him, “But you did not. Welcome back, habibi.”

It was likely the most tender thing she had ever done. She felt the act had been appreciated when Bruce looked at her and mouthed ‘thank you’.

She nodded and turned to leave.

“Talia?” his small voice asked.

“Yes?”

“Why did you help me?”

Anger bubbled up in her. She attempted to deny it. She turned and walked to the cot, putting a gentle hand on the cheek that had been swollen before. “You deserved it,” she said. “You deserved to be helped because you did not deserve what happened to you.”

He began crying again. She wiped his tears in a way she had never done for her own son.

“Why’d she do that to me,” he sobbed. “She- she could’ve left me al-o-one,” he hiccupped.

She barely spared a glance towards Bruce as she climbed onto the cot with them, pressing him into her. Bruce was at his back. He tried to cling to both at the same time. She never thought she’d see the day one of Bruce’s kids looked to her for comfort.

She couldn’t help but to compare it to her own.

“Habibi,” she murmured, “Do not think of it. You did not deserve that, and she was wrong for it.”

“Did she live?”

She hushed him. “No more of that. Do not burden yourself thinking of the well-being of others over your own, especially when those you are caring for do not value you in the same way. She did not value you, Jason. You will not spare another thought to her.”

He nodded.

This was the comfort she had never given to, or gotten from, another being. The crying child ruined her shirt, yet she could not seem to find it in her to care for it. All she wanted was to soothe him.

Although it was unbecoming of an Al Ghul to do so, she thought of what could’ve been if she hadn’t kept the secrets she had. She had never questioned her choice to side with her father. She had never needed to. She had had her life planned from the moment she was conceived, and she had been content to fill the role. The boundaries she pushed were never truly tested to their limits, and she knew it. She had never stopped to wonder what could’ve been.

If she had been soothed like this when she was much younger. What could’ve happened if training hadn’t been survival. She wondered if she’d be a better warrior for it. She wondered if she could’ve been a better mother.

Her child was five. She remembered what it had been like to be pregnant, her father attempting to insist she terminate in the early stages since she’d be out of commission so long. She had just barely managed to convince him it was a good opportunity.

She remembered every detail of the birth, how he felt in her arms and his soft, milky breath puffing out over her cheeks. He’d been put into training nearly immediately. She’d never questioned it. Even knowing her father would kill him if given the chance. Knowing he’d likely already be dead if it weren’t for the pits.

It would take time. It would take effort. It would take work. But sitting here, softly rubbing down the back of someone else’s crying child, she swore she would do better for herself and her boy. She wasn’t sure if she would ever earn it, but he at the very least deserved it. It would take cunning, wit, and the courage she had never had the guts to conjure up.

She thought of his little face, still full of baby fat. The scars that already marred his once perfect skin.

It would be difficult but he was worth it. It would take time, but he was worth every second. She would spend the rest of her life in regret for not coming to her senses sooner, but right here, in this very moment, she was swearing to do better for him. Only for him.

If Bruce fit into that picture, great. If he did not, that was fine too.

She steeled herself, taking her vow.

After all, above all, and Ah Ghul always gets what they want. Talia wanted this would every fiber of her being.

So have it she shall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding a kid on the rooftop was the last thing Nightwing had been expecting.

Agent A had contacted him through the coms to let him know Batman had a breakdown and took Robin on an impromptu tour to go see the world’s most radioactive pool with an Al Ghul, so that was so nice. He swore he was going to beat that man black and blue someday-

He was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually go through with it. He could be incredibly selfish, and impulsive, and sometimes he thought he knew everything and ignored facts. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d done to make sure Jason pulled through this, he better not throw it away trying to find a miracle cure. The thought made his blood pressure rise.

He’d been pissed, looking for a couple more criminals to bust before he called it a night. He was in Gotham this week to be closer to Robin, but also to make sure the Bat didn’t go too far. He’d been pushing it a couple of times this week and he wasn’t sure what all that was about.

Babs had been helping them, of course, but she had college work to do and she was only one person. It took at least three at a time to handle Bruce on a good day.

When he saw two people on the rooftop, he’d been suspicious. He hadn’t crept close enough to hear what was being said, but he knew they were there.

Looking at them hurt, like they were beings mortals were never supposed to see. They were otherworldly and felt so out of reach. That rarely spelled out good news for the world, so he stuck around.

When one of them left, he could immediately feel most of the awe he’d been full of leaving his body. He looked at the remaining being. White hair with a black suit; he’d assumed it was a new villain. He’d spotted a couple people walking around in white suits, and as far as he knew that was nobody's trademark around here; he assumed a new rogue was moving in.

It hadn’t gone as planned. It was a kid, he thought. He was scared and had powers, maybe a new meta? He’d thrown something that scorched the building and Nightwing had let his anger for the bat take a hold of him, breeding impulsive decisions. He’d branded his escrima sticks, turned on, electricity crackling between them beautifully.

He’d caused this kid to have a panic attack. He had one himself when he started picking out features of his baby brother in the boy.

They had the same nose. They had the same eye shape and chin. The only difference between them was the hair, his eyes, and the fangs. Though, it explained it perfectly if Jason had... passed away.

Yeah. Batgirl was more than earning her cookies tonight, talking him down gently and allowing him to carry the child after he had just gotten his gross feelings all over this case.

… Maybe they shouldn’t have taken the mysterious child to the cave. In his defense, he was pretty sure he was going to get another brother with the way Alfred was looking at him as he walked around in silent awe was anything to go by. Plus, Batman wasn’t here to say no. See, this is why you shouldn’t take flights to only god knows where in the middle of the night without informing people. They get back at you by doing things they know you wouldn’t want them doing, often in your own house.

He vaguely wondered if Alfred would help him convince Bruce the boy had been here the whole time. It would be hilarious.

Alfred walked over, holding a tray of sandwiches. He was already in his own domino after he and Batgirl warned him they were coming home with an extra.

See how nice it is when you have a warning? You can prepare-

“Good evening, young sir,” he started out, ever formal. “I am called Agent A. I must admit I was shocked when Nightwing informed me you were going to be joining us tonight, but I have managed to prepare sandwiches. There are other things cooking as we speak and leftovers in the fridge I can heat up if you are interested. Would you by chance be willing to partake in them with us? Or tell us your name?”

The boy blinked. He looked like he was having trouble remembering how to speak. “I... I’m Phantom,” he said slowly.

It was more than they’d been able to get out of him.

Alfred smiled. “Phantom it is. Now, are there any allergies or preferences before we get started?”

“I’m vegetarian,” his voice was still low, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly. “S-, uh, Black Dahlia would probably kill me again if I go back on my word.”

… Well that was odd. They filed the information away for later; they didn’t want to push their luck as of right now.

“Very well,” Alfred replied without missing a beat. He started pointing to different sandwiches, “This one is cucumber. It’s one of my personal favorites to make, and is quite delicious. If that isn’t your preference, these are egg salad, assuming you are not vegan-” he paused to look at the child.

“Egg and stuff is fine. Just no meat,” he said lowly.

Alfred smiled. “Good. Now, these-”

He kept explaining different sandwiches before leaving the platter on the table he’d made Bruce shove down there years ago. He excused himself before he went upstairs.

Knowing Alfred, he was baking cookies right now. Bless that man.

“Phantom,” Batgirl said, “do you, uh, know who we are?”

He gulped a bit. “I always assumed the Gotham vigilantes were, uh, fake,” he coughed. “I should probably stop assuming things. I’m always wrong,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” she asked gently.

He froze. “I met bigfoot,” he blurted out. “He was a ghost. Kind of, uh, puts things into perspective.”

That... hadn’t been what they were expecting.

“Okay,” he said cheerily instead. He could bullshit his way through anything for at least five minutes. “Was he nice at least?”

He snorted. “He tried to kill me and my friends.”

“Well that’s not good,” he replied. The kid gave no indication he was fucking with them. Given what he saw earlier, he had doubts he was.

“No.”

“I’m Nightwing, by the way,” he stuck out his hand.

He grinned. “Phantom, though I’m sure you already heard,” he took it.

“I’m Batgirl,” she decided to jump in before this conversation could get any weirder. “It’s nice to meet you, Phantom.”

He turned his boyish grin to her. Nothing like Jason’s. It was as soothing as it was uncanny.

“Nice to meet you too, Batgirl,” he said.

“So, Phantom,” she asked, “Where are you from?”

He fidgeted in his seat. “Um...”

“You don’t have to answer,” Nightwing jumped in. He could see she was trying her best to be subtle, but they really did need answers. “We just want to understand what happened back there a little better. You seemed pretty out of it.”

“... Yeah.”

He didn’t speak further on it.

They dropped it easily, trying to extract information a different way.

They asked if he went to school. Who his friends were. He kept giving answers like “Pharaoh” and “Black Dahlia”. Most of them made little sense.

They let him ask questions, too. They tried not to show concern as he asked how Agent A got the food to taste so good and casually dropped that his parents reanimated everything in their fridge often enough that he thought about keeping dry food and snacks in the house to eat??

They were either being fucked with, and this kid was incredible at sticking to the bit, or this was an actual ongoing occurrence.

They weren’t sure which option they preferred.

By the time Alfred had gotten down with the cookies, he’d had a medical kit with him.

“Now, Phantom,” he greeted, “I noticed you had a nasty bruise on your head. I would like to take a look at it and any other injuries you may have, if that’s alright.”

He looked back at Nightwing and Batgirl.

“Agent A has been doing most of my medical maintenance since I was nine,” he reassured. “I promise you’ll be okay.” He dropped his voice, cupping his hand over his mouth conspiratorially before whispering, “He even lets you have an extra cookie if you stay still.”

Phantom laughed a bit before agreeing to let the older man take a look.

“How’d you get such a nasty thing?” Alfred asked.

He fidgeted. “I... someone hit me in the head with a bat,” he said.

“Oh?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Why would someone do that?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I still don’t know why,” he said in a whisper.

Nightwing glanced at Alfred’s face as he glanced at his. They nodded and looked at Babs. She also nodded subtly, pretending it was because she was enjoying a cookie.

“Mmm,” she hummed while making the motion and swallowed before saying, “These are really good, Agent A. Would you like one, Phantom?”

“What kind?”

“White chocolate chunk raspberry with macadamia nut,” she responded.

He whistled and winced when Alfred pressed gently against the bruise. “Sure!”

“After his exam, I presume?” He looked up at Babs, eyebrow raised.

She blushed. “Of course, Agent A.”

He nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It looks to be healing nicely. There’s been no nausea? No headaches, tiredness...?”

“No, sir,” he replied.

“Oh, nonsense, call me Agent A,” he said, looking the boy over. “You can get that cookie now, as long as you answer one thing.”

He looked up at Alfred. This expression reminded Nightwing of Jason; his chest ached.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively.

“What is that on your hand?”

He made a small ‘oh’ before holding his hand out for Alfred to see. “It’s a Lichtenburg scar,” he said softly.

Alfred took his hand gently. “My word, how does someone get one of these in such a peculiar place? Where does it end?” he asked.

Phantom took a deep breath. “I, um... live wire,” he said dismissively as if he didn’t just make alarm bells ring. He began peeling himself partially out of his suit to uncover a mass of scarring going up his left arm and across his shoulder.

Some of it creeped towards his neck, but most of it traveled along the curves of his chest and back. Dick was almost certain those were the same patterns of nerves and blood vessels in that area, all ending right where his heart should be.

The adults were silent for a few seconds. “Oh my,” Alfred said before catching himself. “That’s quite a serious wound. It looks like it’s healed alright, you’ve had no pain? No nerve damage?”

“It’s better some days than others,” the boy admitted, already pulling the suit back on. “It really only bugs me when I overuse my hand. Play too many video games, write too long, stuff like that,” he answered.

“Very well,” Alfred replied. “I believe you’ve earned your cookie. Which one would you like to start with?” he asked.

“Um,” he said softly and looked at Babs. “What was the one you had earlier?”

“This one,” she said, tapping the plate.

He grabbed the napkin Alfred offered him and took one, taking a careful bite before humming in surprise. “This is really good!” he said after he swallowed.

“I do try,” the butler replied humbly, because he was just like that.

All of the information they were getting was starting to paint a very concerning picture. They hadn’t been able to extract a hometown or a legal name from the child, but it was clear he was very nervous and jumpy. He looked one wrong word away from bolting, even with them pulling all the stops to try and prevent it.

The longer he studied him, the more sure he was that he had been some sort of vigilante in his area. The suit, the persona, the way he carried himself and talked before he caught what he was doing and adjusted his behavior? Something was wrong.

The boy also made his heart ache. He didn’t have the same mannerisms as Jason, and the scarring on his left hand was enough to prove he wasn’t, but he looked enough like him for it to be jarring. From the glances Alfred and Babs through his way when Phantom wasn’t looking, he could tell they thought the same. It was nice knowing he wasn’t completely out of line on the rooftop, but he’d really thought for a moment...

It was stupid. Bruce... Bruce promised he’d make it. He was really clinging to that, ignoring the little voice that whispered that it was Bruce’s fault he was in that position to begin with.

He remembered when he found Jason’s phone sitting on his desk. The boy had never seen the need for a passcode and had never set one. He picked it up. He’d turned it on.

He didn’t go through any of his private messages with his friends. Didn’t even really look at those; he couldn’t recall a single name he’d seen except for hers. He’d read through every email on the account, seeing the way she’d manipulated and used him. He hadn’t given the phone to the bat; hadn’t mentioned the emails. If Jason wanted to tell him if- when he woke up, that was his business.

He didn’t care what kind of condition his brother was in. If Batman got hold of his phone now, he’d leave nothing unchecked. Any sort of private conversation his brother was having would be between him, the person he was having it, and the bat. He would turn into a tyrant and start bugging devices again; he didn’t want that for Jason, and he was pretty damn sure Bruce would bug his phone again. He sure as hell didn’t want another awkward talk from Bruce about internet safety. He’s 18, he can make his own decisions, and also, that was completely on Bruce for bugging his fucking phone .

He was willing to admit that it was a little selfish, but what was done was already done. Showing Bruce the emails wouldn’t do any good now. He would have a conversation with Jason himself about it.

His thoughts snapped back to reality as he heard Phantom’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “What was that? I got a bit distracted.”

“I asked if you were okay,” he said softly.

It hurt. He treated Jason so badly when he first arrived. They had really only just been getting along; and now, he was...

He smiled. “I’m okay.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. He ignored him.

Batgirl glared at him. He ignored her.

“So!” he clapped his hands, “Phantom, what’s your favorite tv show?”

He jumped, but recovered quickly. “I, um...”

He held back a sigh. He got an idea.

“Hey...” he whispered. “Did you know that Batman-” he leaned forwards, glancing around for dramatic effect- “Is deathly afraid of bats?”

He could hear Alfred groan softly. Babs giggled into her hand. Phantom himself snorted and choked out, “Really?!”

Dick himself let out a chuckle. That had blown his mind when he was little; he assumed Bruce loved bats. He had insisted they get bat-themed everything any time they could get away with it for that very reason (now he just did it because it was funny).

“Yup,” he said. “I was just as shocked as you were. I was pretty young when he took me in, and he never told me he was deathly afraid of the things. One night, when I was a little younger than you are now, I found a few of these little bats that were hurt,” he started. Babs was already stifling laughter and, although he’d deny it if called out, he could see Alfred’s shoulders shaking with mirth. He had already began cracking up himself.

“I uh,” his shoulders shook, “I was really concerned about them, right? They fit in the palm of my hand and...” he trailed off. “They were badly hurt. I think a cat got a hold of them or something,” he continued.

Phantom hadn’t noticed his switch in mood. Babs and Alfred definitely had.

“I did what any teenage-something would do; I put them in a box and brought them to Batman. Surely he liked bats, right?”

They were back to restrained laughter, but it wasn’t the happy thing it had been. Phantom had caught on to what was about to happen, his own shoulders shaking with laughter.

Dick slammed a hand on the table. “I feel like he didn’t appreciate it enough!”

“Certainly not, sir,” Alfred sniffed, “Can’t imagine why a man who dresses up as a bat wouldn’t want to have bats in his home. In his room. On his bed,” he smirked a bit. “I haven’t the faintest idea as to why he would run out of the room screaming.”

There wasn’t a hope in the world to get Dick and Babs under control in the next few minutes.

Phantom was no better, mouth muffled and shoulders shaking. “On his bed?!” he wheezed.

“I-” he was interrupted by his own breathless laughter, “I thought they’d get co- cold.”

Babs grabbed the table. “He-he had to call my dad,” she forced out, “To come get them!”

And maybe things weren’t perfect. They certainly weren't okay. The underlying tension was like waiting for a balloon to finally pop.

But Nightwing was a big brother. This may not be his baby brother, and he wasn’t very good at this yet, but he couldn’t just let him... stay like this. He looked so sad.

This kid wasn’t his baby brother, but he was someone’s baby brother. He’d do his best.

He just hoped his best would be good enough.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day nine #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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forlornmelody · 2 years

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Baking Disaster

There were three cardinal rules in Alfred’s kitchen.

1. No dishes left in the sink.

2. The microwave is for emergencies only.

3. Bruce Wayne is not allowed to touch anything. Not the fridge. Not cupboards. Not even the cutlery drawer.

Neither Alfred or Bruce would ever explain the reason why, but Jason had a feeling his mentor had once set the kitchen on fire. Or maybe more than once. But Alfred let Jason help him cook and bake. It gave Jason a rush. There were so many rules in Wayne Manor, or even outside it that he had to follow at all times. He almost missed the streets. Almost. But here there was something Jason was allowed to do that Bruce wasn’t.

Bruce and Jason only broke that rule once. Alfred caught a cold. One bad enough to put him to bed but not bad enough to send him to the hospital. And so they bought a can of chicken noodle soup and stuck it in the microwave for three minutes, bringing it to Alfred after it had a minute to cool. And after Alfred was safely asleep and breathing close to normal, Bruce got a mischievous glint in his eye and the faintest trace of a smile.

“Follow me,” he whispered conspiratorially. It was a side of Bruce Jason had never seen before. Were they gonna do something illegal? Maybe shoplift the convenience store at the end of one of the Batcave tunnels? Break into the R&D labs at Dagget? Pull a prank on Gordon? (Well, Jason was pretty sure that was illegal–Gordon being the police commissioner, and all.)

It was nothing illegal–at least not in the eyes of the public. Jason looked up at Bruce (God, to think there was a time when Bruce was taller) curiously as he tip-toed, tip-toed into the Wayne Manor kitchen. He held a finger to his lips as he edged open a drawer to the side of the stove, and pulled out two aprons–one full size and one tween size. Bruce tied his on with a flourish and made quick work of the ties on Jason’s. “Ready to get to work?” he whispered.

Jason nodded silently, pulling out the baking cookbook and whispering ingredients. Flour. Butter. Chocolate chips. Raw cane sugar. Eggs. Almond Extract. --”Trust me, Bruce. Alfred doesn’t believe in vanilla.” Baking soda. Water. A pinch of salt.

They didn’t use the standing mixer–too loud. So they took turns mixing it by hand. “Watch this.” Bruce grinned, stirring faster and harder. “Betchya Barry can’t stir this fast–oh.”

Part of the dough flew and hit Jason on the nose. He narrowed his eyes as Bruce's eyes widened. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Wait, Jason–”

“Too late.” Jason grabbed a handful and threw it at Bruce’s face like a snowball.

It didn’t crumble like snow did, landing on Bruce’s chest with a smack. “Jason.”

Jason swallowed. “Bruce–”

Next thing he knew, the whole bowl of dough was getting dunked on his head. By the time they finished their dough fight, Jason and Bruce had to make a whole ‘nother batch to bake. But man, those cookies looked good baking in the oven.

Just after the timer dinged! Bruce and Jason heard a soft cough behind them. Oh no.

“What happened to my kitchen?” Alfred said weakly, a soft quilt wrapped around his shoulders. Jason looked behind him and saw the mess for the first time. Dough on the cabinets. Dough on the floor. Dough on the cookbook. Dough on the ceiling.

“I can explain–”

Thankfully, Alfred was a forgiving man–once Jason had cleaned all the kitchen with Bruce’s help. Bruce still wasn’t allowed though.

“Jason? You okay?”

Dick’s hand grabs Jason’s shoulder. He jumps, the mixing spoon clattering to the floor. “Huh?”

“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.” Dick looks worried.

“Oh.” Jason looks down at the unmixed ingredients, and realizes his hands are shaking. His chest hurts. There isn’t enough air in the room.

“Master Jason?”

Jason doesn’t even realize that he’s kneeling on the floor until Aflred wraps the same quilt around his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Jason. You’re safe.” Barbara says soothingly, handing him some ice water, and helping him hold the glass.

Tim kneels in front of him. “Remember your breathing exercise. Four counts in. Hold. Four counts out. Hold…”

Dick turns the music down, along with the police chatter. He even closes the curtains. And when Jason’s ready, Dick guides him upstairs to the couch, tucking him in without a word.

Just as he starts to walk away, Jason whispers. “Thanks.”

“Any time, brother.” Dick smiles softly, and the sun glimmers in his eyes.

#gotham knights #dc comics #dc gaming #jason todd #batfam #hurt/comfort #angst #cPTSD #anyone else get triggered by baking?#or is it just me and J?#first time writing for this specific fandom #hope you enjoy

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eliemo · 2 years

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Chance Encounter- Ch. 1

Bruce meets Clark at his most human. Clark meets Bruce at his least human. They find each other somewhere along the way.

This is pretty much gonna be 5 times Bruce and Clark fall in love for the first time. Lots of secret identity shenanigans. This whole idea was inspired by this

The first time Superman felt pain was the day he met Batman.

The feeling came so suddenly, slamming into him like a tidal wave, sharp and overpowering and impossible, the force of it knocking him right out of flight and sending the Man of Steel hurtling to the ground, crashing into the evacuated street below.

There was something in his side, burning like fire, jostled with every little movement, worsening the new sensation of agony with every passing heartbeat. Superman craned his neck to look, morbidly curious somewhere beneath the panic, hazy vision catching sight of something green, glowing in deadly power, and the sickening sight of red.

Superman was bleeding, the wound oozing a dark red, and he couldn’t keep his head raised long enough to figure out how to remove the Kryptonite from his skin.

He couldn’t breathe, gasping and choking on the blood in his mouth, lungs that had never once faltered before now screaming for air. He couldn't see, blurry vision fading in waves, blacking out completely when the pain would spike, an indestructible body now writhing in pain among the rubble.

He could hear the distant whir of machinery, of screaming, of a battle continuing on without him, Metropolis falling without its savior.

And he could see a figure in the distance, the dark shape moving closer and closer with each sluggish blink, each labored, gasping breath. The pain worsened again, impaled side feeling like someone had dunked it in acid, and Superman squeezed his eyes shut, helplessly crying out against the agony.

When he opened them again, he wasn’t alone.

His view of the sky was obstructed by a blur of black, two expressionless white eyes peering down at him, a masked face hovering just above his own.

Superman was enveloped in a black cloak, the midnight cape pooling underneath him like a puddle of his own blood, blurred vision struggling to make out the creature- or person (angel?) crouched over him, silent and unmoving.

It was like time screeched to a stop, the pain numbed in that one blissful, neverending moment. Bright, panicked eyes met the empty white behind the mask, void of anything human, anything warm.

And yet, for that moment, Superman stopped being afraid.

Until reality came slamming back into him in a rush of pain and panic, and Superman cried out again, arching his back against the unbearable feeling, the shard of Kryptonite jostling against broken skin.

He reached out without thinking, desperate to hold onto something, anything, frantic to ground himself, to make the pain stop.

His bloody hands found the material of the cape where it met the figure’s broad shoulders, clinging desperately, smearing the dark material with his own blood.

Dark red stains, like he was human. Broken and bleeding.

Superman almost missed it, caught in his own screams of agony, but the figure above him tensed, going perfectly still, the exposed jaw beneath the mask tightening just a fraction. His head tilted down, empty white eyes locked onto Superman’s hands.

“Please,” Superman heard himself say, weak in a way he’d never been, pleading with a shadow. “Please make it stop, please make it stop.”

The figure didn’t move, but Superman thought he saw those blank eyes travel down to the green rock in his side, lodged deep in unbreakable skin, splattered with blood.

“Get it out,” Superman gasped, trembling and desperate, his throat tight. “Take it out. Please.” Please make it stop, please make the pain stop, please–

There was a sudden tug at his side, the Kryptonite making an awful squelch against wet skin, and Superman screamed again, raw and hoarse, squeezing his eyes shut as the wound spasmed, a dangerous fog settling around his mind.

He could still feel its effect, could still feel it draining him, sapping his powers, killing him slow–

And just like that it was gone, like a weight being yanked off his chest, leaving him gasping for air he was finally allowed to breathe in.

It felt like the world was spinning underneath him, everything coming back slowly, the shock of the pain still lingering, fading uncomfortably slow even as he felt himself begin to heal.

He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the glare of the sun, of the bright blue sky, of the sounds of a battle still raging. There was no one else around, and no sign that there ever had been.

The Kryptonite was gone, and the street was empty.

#batman #superman #superbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc #dc comics #fanfiction #writing

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blackbat05 · 3 years

Text

Pillar

Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: Finally doing another Jason Todd fic! I really love him ok he’s like one of the few I got into when I started to learn about comics. Hope you enjoy! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: Self-doubt, cursing, trauma.

(Gif may be unrelated but I love this style y’all so just let it slide)

***

Jason closes the door carefully, removing the necktie that was restricting him for the past five hours. He hated parties. He was the type to lounge around in his boxers, eating takeout food and watching serial dramas after a hard day’s work.

But under Alfred’s gaze, he could no longer squirm out again of Bruce’s many galas. So of he went, forcing a smile on his face as he pretended to be interested in how much they donated to his adoptive father’s charity or worse - being swarmed by air headed women who thought that he would be engaged in the conversation of their daily manicure sessions.

‘Hey Jay, saved some for you.’ Jason sees you in your pajamas, slurping on fried noodles and his heart feels like it’s about to burst with affection. For a guy like him that was trying to run from his complicated past, you provided a sense of clarity for him. Jason was a lucky bastard. He flops onto the sofa, adding a dumpling into the opened box of noodles.

‘You’re a lifesaver babe.’

‘Hard day at the manor?’ Your eyes were still on the screen, watching your favorite drama.

‘You have no idea. I wanted to choke Dickhead at one point.’ He tosses another dumpling into his mouth, like a basketball player making his dunk shot. Groaning in satisfaction, Jason thinks about how the rich people back at the manor were missing out the true joys in life - Greasy noodles with superb meat dumplings.

He didn’t know where the tiny portion of caviar or escargot could be parked in his stomach, probably because it had vanished as it went down his throat.

As the male lead was finally reunited with his lover, Jason notices that it was a bit too quiet, minus the slurping of your noodles and the noise from the television. He knew he had a hard time, but defending an onslaught of insensitive and rude rich people was an easy task for him. Now, Jason wants to focus on you.

‘How’s your day?’

‘It’s fine.’ As he suspected, the answer came back curtly. Jason waits patiently for a few seconds before asking again.

‘That’s good. Anything you wanna share? You’re wrapped like a burrito and holding your favorite mushroom plush toy whenever you’re feeling something. And your watching this drama for the eighth time.’ Jason rattles of his observations, figuring that if you blew up at him, he would improvise on the spot. But as he predicted, you didn’t.

‘You counted?’

‘That’s not the point here (y/n).’ Jason brings you back to the conversation. ‘You know you can always tell me anything.’

The truth? Your parents had called you yesterday as you finished your last assignment before semester break. A huge fight had broke out between your mother and older sister who had been acting strange lately. Somewhere along the lines where your sister felt that your parents were constantly breathing down her throat and accused them of being “helicopter parents” at the age of 24.

‘You’ve seen my parents Jay. Sure, they ask questions but never crossed the line. They gave us everything we could have but they made us work for it.’ Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. If you could unscrew your sibling’s head and find what was going on in her brain, you would.

Jason nods, having met your parents during the yearly Chinese New Year gatherings. Your father had taken on the role of a concerned parent to make sure some boy wasn’t screwing with his baby girl for fun. As a tennis coach, he commanded respect despite Jason packing a couple more pounds compared to his lean figure.

Your mother on the other hand, gave him the maternal love and warmth he never had. Hell, he could never forget the taste of her prawn noodles - you had to drag Jason out to not intrude any longer. Overall, they were easy going and the fact that they had raised a wonderful daughter despite their humble backgrounds made him admire them even more.

Your sister was a different story…

‘She wasn’t like this. Not until she went to university and decided that family was uncool for her.’ Rolling your eyes, you stabbed the remaining dumpling. You were never one to talk bad about a person even if they were really a jerk by Jason’s standards. You even managed to tolerate the demon brat when you visited the manor for dinner.

So how did a relationship that used to be so loving turn so sour?

Jason was the perfect listener. He never interrupted, nodded at the right time and spoke at the right moment. However, there were times that he had to cut in. Smoothly of course.

‘…my parents are devastated. She had always been stubborn but that fight… she was literally screaming her head off, not letting anyone get a word in. I know she broke up with her ex and they had a lot of memories and with the pandemic she’s restricted at home while working but it doesn’t give her any right to treat my parents as a punching bag!’ You had let out everything at one shot, taking a deep breath afterwards to regain your breath before continuing again.

‘The thing is, she’s attributing part of her stress because she sees me attending online school and “chilling” everyday.’ You quoted with your two fingers. ‘I don’t wish to be mean but she can’t see people being happy.’ The sound from the television could no longer be heard as Jason switches it off.

‘Doesn’t she know how hard I worked my ass to get into the school I wanted? Or how about when she was respected by our middle school teammates and I was treated like trash and she didn’t do anything about it? She didn’t even want anything to do with me!’ You scoffed. The memories had started to resurface, making you more emotional.

‘Jason I know I’m supposed to be her sister but I hate it that I’m selfishly thinking that she deserved all these. I mean we had good times as well but lately I feel like I don’t know her anymore.’ You blow into a tissue loudly, throwing it into the empty container as you took a new one.

Jason hated to see you crying. He expected himself to be emotional as your sibling issues had reminded him of a familiar little boy, craving to get the recognition from his adoptive father. So it came as a surprise as he approached this calmly and not guns blazing.

‘I know you want to be close to your sister again. But we all grow up one day. Maybe she has different ideals from you that you can’t agree with and that’s ok. Take it from me. Although lashing out at your parents was pretty low.’ Jason sees a reaction from you and decides to continue.

‘It’s nice to hope that one day she’ll be the same big sister who defended you from playground bullies and made sure to get you your favorite ice cream again, but if she doesn’t… at least you’ll have these memories to hold on to.’

Jason thanks the gods that he didn’t go for patrol today and wasn’t as sweaty as usual. He lifts your blanket, joining you under the man made burrito.

What country did you save in your previous life to deserve this man?

Calming down from your raging emotions, you wrapped your arms around Jason, leaning against his chest. ‘Thanks Jay, I wouldn’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘Hey, you support me and I support you. We’re in this together.’ And Jason had meant every single word. He was afraid that he was taking too much in the relationship, constantly unloading his problems onto you - nightmares as Robin, clashing with Bruce’s ideology… and countless more of troubles he could count forever.

But not once did you complained. In fact, you took it with stride, encouraging him to share more.

‘Feel better?’ You ask one day after a patrol went wrong in trying to track down Black Mask.

‘Much. I mean it won’t change anything but at least I don’t feel like killing my brothers as much now.’ Jason grins, squishing you into a hug.

It was rare that you were deeply affected by the problems you faced. You were a go getter, taking each day with grit and strength. So Jason knew that it was his time to be your pillar of support, just like how you were always there for him.

‘I really wish I could be there with my parents but the situation isn’t exactly ideal for me to travel. My parents don’t want me to risk contracting the illness while being 18 hours up in the air with a bunch of other strangers.’ You frowned, twiddling with the end of the blanket. ‘I haven’t seen them for two years and this just had to happen thanks to my emotionally volatile sister.’

The two of you fall into silence. Jason gently pries himself away from you, excusing himself for a few minutes. You hear a few muffles coming from your shared room with Jason exiting shortly after, looking very satisfied with himself.

‘Called in a few favors. Got Bruce’s private jet for the whole week. Time to give ourselves a break babe.’

You blink, trying to register what he was telling you. ‘But Jay, don’t you have patrol? And-’

‘Eh,’ he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Dick agreed to cover for me. Otherwise I would tell Bruce who was the one who crashed his car. Yup, I have a lot of leverage against him,’ Jason chuckles. ‘I’m just being smart about using it.’

‘I should be flattered huh? That you’re using one of these leverages for me.’ You laughed.

‘If it’s for you, I would do anything in a heartbeat.’ Jason kisses the side of your cheek. ‘Besides, I need could try out that mean Chicken Rice you were always telling me about.’

You punched Jason in his beefy shoulders, barely making a dent. ‘Thanks Jay, for everything. I really mean it.’ You couldn’t help but to feel envious of Jason’s relationship with his brothers. Although they had their moments, but they looked out for each other, without expecting anything back.

The same couldn’t be said for you. Honestly, you felt that you had a huge mountain to climb when you got back home. Jason brings you back from your thoughts, hand in yours. He was your anchor, your pillar.

‘I’ll be there for you, every step of the way.’

***

Note: This is really just a comfort fic especially what’s going on in my life. I would think that although Jason has a lot of angst but he would have a lot of insight among the batboys? Lastly, I just want to say that although we’re living in very strange times, I hope by reading this, you realize that you’re never alone.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd comfort fic

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allandoflimbo · 4 years

Text

Ashens (Part 7)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,235 words

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Chapter Summary: Some of Bucky's inner feelings towards Y/N gets revealed on their first day on their own.

Full Masterpage | Part 6

STEVE was the one who tightened your velcro backpack around your small shoulders.

You continued to stare into the rising sun behind the blowing trees. It must’ve been a little after 5 AM, since the orange clouds were beginning to mix in with the dark blue of a new sky, announcing the arrival of a brand new day.

Today was the first day of your mission with Bucky, and to say you were fixated on your ultimate goal was an understatement.

The camp didn’t have a running shower, but they had a secluded and private area off to the side that provided warm water and some soap made with lye and lard. The water had to be heated up overnight by an attended fire and then left for an hour before you had to get ready to let it cool down.

When one of the girls had handed you the freshly made bar, the look she gave you scared you.

She had a certain fear in them that you couldn’t quite place and it shook you to the bone.

Was she unhopeful for your return?

When you had entered the little shower, which was just four pieces of wood tall enough to cover your most intimate areas, and you dunked your mud cup into the warm water, you definitely felt like you were being prepared like a sacrificial lamb.

You felt like you were being cleansed and prepared for death.

But as you rinsed away the lye off your skin, and you shuddered against the cold winter air which was beginning to feel like sharp knives, you quickly shoved those thoughts away.

You had to focus on your goal and what it was you were actually being prepared for. This was your opportunity to give your parents what they deserve; the outcome they would want.

After your shower, you quickly dried yourself off with a long and grey rag that had been draped over the “door” for you, and you slid your arms into your heavy coat.

Quickly, to avoid getting the flu that could potentially kill you faster than any other virus ever could, you ran into your tent and slid on your attire.

It was the same one you had worn before you arrived, but Jessica had been extremely kind to you and had it washed and folded stacked neatly next to your cot.

After you zipped on your boots, Steve had shown up and ran the information with you before your departure.

None of you knew exactly how life in The Capitol was.

There had been just one agent who had ever been close enough, and it had been about a year ago.

Bucky had sent Sharon to collect information that would be vital to help their mission, including how the people in The Capitol dressed, how they wore their hair, how they behaved, and if they used any kind of special currency.

Apparently, the clothing they wore, you would have to buy when you got there. It would be possible for the camp to try and knit them so that when you arrived you would fit in right away, but unfortunately, it would not protect you during the three-day walk to get there.

There was nothing different regarding hair or currency, which was a very helpful piece to learn. It meant you and Bucky would not need to go under any crazy makeovers.

Any specific makeup look or hairdo you preferred, you were free to do as you pleased when you arrived.

The only tricky part of getting into The Capitol and not being caught was your identification.

Anyone who resided within The Wall carried a hologram ID that presented your picture, name, resident number, and occupation.

If there was anything Tony Stark left behind, it was his knowledge and technology that had been left behind and protected.

You don’t know how they managed to save nearly all of it from the war and the bombing, but you didn’t ask questions. It didn’t surprise you that the avengers would go through such measures to have a legacy and vital equipment protected.

It had been just enough for Bruce to take it into his own hands and build an almost identical replica of the hologram ID that you and Bucky would need to present in order to do simple tasks like request a hotel room or enter an important building.

You didn’t take Bruces’ hard work for granted; apparently it had taken almost a year and a half just for him to make them.

It would still be a risk when you used your identification because even though your resident number was chosen with an advanced Linux method if it were to hit a miss in Hydra’s system, you and Bucky could be screwed.

Your arrival in the city would simply be accepted by luck.

Steve continued to tighten your backpack as he reminded you of what would happen when you and Bucky both arrived there.

First and utmost important, you would need to find a place to live. According to Sharon, there was a residency area not too far from the center of the city. You would go there and try to get a room.

Next, you and Bucky would need to discover your surroundings.

What was Hydra doing there? Where is Hydra’s main building? Were there anyone there that could possibly be there against their will? How did The Capitol work? What was life there like?

You would then need to set up your false identity, which would be the majority of the mission.

Once you both found where Hydra’s main focus was and from where they worked, you would need to find your way in. You would need to gather as much intel and information about everyone as much as you could.

That is when the team had presented you with an additional ID card, except this one was physical and just a regular white laminated card.

It was a resumé and well thought out employment card, which you and Bucky would use to apply at a Hydra Facility (but not the same one to not induce suspicion). This was an important key to the mission that both you and Bucky were reluctant on participating on, but after much consideration, it was concluded it was essential to winning this.

After you found out everything you both needed to know, after the six months, you would both escape and return to camp with the intel and information gathered that could successfully bring The Capitol’s society down.

One of them being the ring leader’s location. It would be important to the mission to not have anything destroyed, especially The Wall.

This was the part of the mission you did not like.

Because you would not leave The Capitol without having that man from the diner killed.

Part of you felt bad for secretly planning how to divert the avenger’s plan, but at the same time, you now knew that Bucky was also planning something that could potentially shock everyone.

You considered saying something to Steve as he made sure you had everything in your pack - food, blankets, med kit, and a gun with a silencer (the only thing you were allowed) - but you went against it as you remembered your promise to him.

He wanted you to help Bucky love himself again and to feel like he was meant for something more.

As you both walked out of the tent and fully into the outside world, right away you saw Bucky already strapping his own bag over his shoulder.

You know his bag held the same things yours did, except his held a military gun that would serve to protect you during the walk.

Unfortunately, you would not be allowed to take any weapons with you into the city. They would be left dug into a hole and abandoned.

Your heart skipped in your chest as you observed his dominating aura.

He wore attire similar to yours, except a male version. He had a black coat with a hood that strapped across the front of his chest. Attached to it was a hood similar to yours. You could tell he had layers of clothing under his jacket for protection, and his pants were thick and tucked into heavy boots.

A pair of leather gloves covered his hands. He was tightening the one over his metal arm when he looked over at you.

His eyes were dark and his teeth clenched as he looked you up and down. You quickly looked away and back at Steve.

Steve was tightening your tracker around your wrist.

“Remember, this will only keep you off their radar for ninety seconds and it can only be activated twice. You can only use it when you enter and leave the city,” you were in a daze as you felt the need to look up at Bucky again. The pull was inevitable, “Y/N,” Steve’s tone was sturdy and you blinked at him, “Got it?”

He looked at you apprehensively, his grip tight over your hand. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Got it. Just twice. Entering and leaving.”

He nodded and pulled the sleeves of your coat halfway up both hands.

He gave you one more look and then nodded with his head towards Bucky, backing away from you, and walking towards Bucky’s direction.

You flexed your toes in your boots and held tightly onto the handles of your bag.

You took a deep breath and followed Steve towards Bucky.

Bucky looked at his boots and flexed his hands.

You didn’t realize how much bigger he was than you until now. Maybe it was his clothing, maybe.

You cleared your throat and he looked up at you through heavy lashes.

You wondered where he had been this morning while you were showering. It’s then that you catch sight of his heavy and dark bags under his eyes. Had he been up all night?

“Didn’t sleep?” Your question comes out before you mean it to and Bucky’s gaze quickly darkens.

“No.”

You sigh deeply, not knowing if you were more annoyed by his attitude towards you that clearly hadn’t changed or if you felt bad. You hoped his lack of sleep wouldn’t create more crankiness or mess-ups.

“Unlike you, I don’t need it.” He adds. He looks up towards the sky, making his sharp jaw visible to you and you curse the world for making him so attractive. You wondered then what kind of boyfriend he was to Daisy. And you wonder about the rumor of him and the Wakanda girl. Did he sleep with her? Was he good? Your questions in your head are interrupted as he continues, “We should get going. The sun is getting brighter and we can’t afford to lose one more day.”

Steve looked at you both like you were his two children going off to their first day of college and then he saluted you both goodbye.

Not one word was shared as you followed Bucky into the woods until what felt like three hours later.

The entire way, he hadn’t been kind enough to slow down for you, so you trailed behind him by at least fifteen feet.

You didn’t want to admit to defeat, but your lungs were burning and your legs were too. It wasn’t until he briefly stopped that you thanked the heavens.

As you caught up to his side, you saw what he had paused to look at.

There in front of you was an entire city. It was destroyed, defeated, and reeking of death and evil.

The broken and sharp metal of what had once been pretty buildings were now pointed into the sky. Heavy dust with lingering smoke, that had never gone away, still floated above the city like a dark halo.

You swallowed painfully, thirsty, and afraid.

Sure, he was an avenger, but the bacteria...

You looked at him, unsure.

“Bucky, we can’t go through the city. We have to stay on the outskirts,” he ignored you, taking a step forward and commencing his walk towards the city. You watched, unmoved, “It’s too dangerous, Bucky, we don’t know what is in that air—” You finally sighed and ran up to him, pulling on the sleeve of his coat, “Bucky—“

He quickly snapped around to look at you, “We are going through the city. You think I came all this way for safety? You think I care? You think I’m some kind of coward? That we’ll just be taking the easy way out for everything? Or do you actually have any courageous and strong bone in that pathetic body of yours?” His words attack your ego and you practically flinch at the last question, slowly letting go of his sleeve. He’s breathing hard through his nose and you watch as he runs a hand over his face. He points back with his metal arm, “It’s the quickest route. We’re on atimed schedule. I don’t have time for safety or convenience. I’ll go alone if that’s what it takes. Come with me or not.”

He doesn’t bother giving you another glance before commencing his walk into the destroyed city. You practically hear the howl of the wind and you pull the hood higher over your head.

You consider his words. You were trying to be safer, but he was right. This would be the quickest way and it wasn’t like you weren’t at least partially prepared for this.

You took a deep breath and followed him.

Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was momentarily shocked when he saw you right next to him.

He took the first step into the pavement, a dry leaf crunch under his boot. The sound echoed in the air.

You were both faced with what once was the main road, fallen traffic lights and power lines lined the street.

Cars were overturned, some destroyed completely either by fire or vandalism. The buildings, if they weren’t destroyed, were broken into and also vandalized. Overgrown shrubs were beginning to grow over the street signs and into the cracks of the sidewalk.

It was also terrifying how quiet it was.

You didn’t trust it.

It was obvious Bucky was reluctant just as much as you because his pace matched yours, and at some point, he had even pulled out his gun.

Your eyes darted around as you passed the empty cars and buses. One of the cars even had what appeared to be kids' toys - a stuffed teddy bear and a baby mirror - and you shuddered looking away, not wanting to know what happened here.

Bucky’s gun followed his eyes and immediately you wondered how long its been that he’s left camp.

“How long has it been since you’ve been outside like this?” You ask.

He’s quiet as you both step over a fallen street sign that advertised some kind of clothing brand, and you take his silence as an answer, giving up.

“A while.”

You’re surprised that he responded and your eyebrows shoot up.

You wait a minute and take another bite.

“Not used to it anymore, huh?” He doesn’t respond, “I can tell.”

“Is this your idea of small talk?” He snaps.

“I’m just trying to make conversation. I’m stuck with you for the next six months, might as well.”

“No. I’m stuck with you.”

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. Your joyous walk continues for a few more miles until you both turn onto a street where a train now lies.

You both stare at it, confused and surprised, wondering how the hell it got there. But judging by the entry holes on the buildings on either side, it was obvious that it had probably been thrown by means of an explosion of some sort.

And you would both have to somehow get around it.

As you approached the train car, you and Bucky came to a halt.

“I’ll go first since I’m heavier. Make sure it doesn’t topple over or isn’t booty-trapped.” Bucky says, tightening his bag strap over his body, “Stand back.”

You did as you were told and watched from a small distance as he began to climb into one of the cars which had its doors still open. Some bodies that had been reduced to skeletons were still inside.

You held tightly onto the straps of your backpack, apprehensively.

Eventually, Bucky had hopped out on to the other side with a huff.

He turned to face you.

“Your turn.”

You took a deep breath and a step forward, the leaves and glass debris breaking under your feet.

Your eyes met, and once again it was like that first time he saw you in the tent.

You looked down at the cart cautiously before stepping onto it. You clenched and unclenched your right hand, and with your left, you used it to help hoist yourself onto the train.

It rocked beneath your weight with a heavy groan and your eyes shot up to his in fear.

He leaned his right arm on the side of the car for support, and with his left, he stretched it out for you to take.

You look down to where he stood on the ground, and you swallowed, scared at how far the jump looked.

He wiggled his fingers and you were about to stretch your own arm out to take his hand when you saw something move behind him.

A man.

“Oh, my God.”

It was too fast for you to even recollect what happened, but suddenly you were on top of Bucky. You were screaming and he was cursing and you saw the silhouette of the man next to you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bucky shouted, until fully turning around to see what you were looking at.

He cursed before pulling you behind him to shield you. He ran you both back towards a destroyed building on the far side of the street and finally aimed his gun at the man who was groaning, a green/black substance oozing out of his mouth like foam.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, sending multiple gunshots into the man’s chest. He fell forward onto the street, dead.

You stumbled back and found Bucky’s hold on you soothing before he roughly pulled away and looked down at you, disappointed.

“Seriously?”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, feeling the dig of the building behind you.

How dare he snap at you for protecting him.

“You asshole. He was about to —”

“I don’t need you to protect me. If anything, you made it worst.”

“How the hell did I make it worst?” Bucky snarled, “What if I fell on him, huh? What if we both did?”

“But we didn’t!” You could feel your heart in your veins; in your head.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he swung his gun back down, relaxing his stance.

“Jesus fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, walking away from you, “I don’t know how you survived three years. It’s like it’s a joke to you.”

You feel your tears in your eyes before you push yourself off the wall and walked right past him so this time you were the one leading the way.

“I do what I can.” You mumble.

“Pathetic is what you are.” You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t. Your pace grew faster as he continued on, “You don’t—” he grabbed onto your arm, making you quickly turn around and face him. You didn’t hide the tears and you knew very well he could see them. He looked into your eyes with his pretty blue ones, “You don’t hesitate to save your own life,” he tucked your scarf that had come loose tighter around your face, and for a second you thought maybe and finally, he had a change of heart. But his next words killed that as he stepped away, dropping his hand, “We can’t risk getting infected. And I can’t risk you getting me infected, either. I might be a super soldier, but we don’t know how that thing affects people like me.”

Him. It was always about him and his safety.

“What about me? What about me getting infected or killed?” He took a step closer to you.

“You signed up for this. You know the risk.”

He walked past you.

“So I should care about your life, but not about mine?”

“What I’m saying is you need to be careful.” You were about to say something else when he finished with, “Now tie your boots before you get us both killed by you tripping onto me.”

With a snarl, you looked down to see that, indeed, your left shoe was untied.

Shit.

An hour after your fight, the winds grew stronger and your visibility was down to two feet. You hadn’t spoken to each other since, and to be fairly honest, it’s not like you wanted to speak to him anyway.

After the winds had calmed down, you had both made it through the city and were now walking through what had once been crops. Now it was just coarse sand and rough rocks.

You wanted to ask him if you could rest for a few minutes, at least to have something to eat. But you were so afraid of what he would say to you.

But as you both walked and walked, it became harder.

Eventually, you stopped, and he also stopped to look at you. Your face was crestfallen.

“I’m not a super soldier like you. I need to eat. Maybe have a sip of water.”

Bucky looked you down but then turned and continued walking again.

You wanted to cry.

Did he want you down on your knees? Would that be enough for him?

After a few minutes, you reached forest land again.

You watched as Bucky walked off to the left side and sat against a tree.

You wanted to cry in relief.

You practically ran to him, sitting next to him against the tree. You pulled off your backpack and he did the same with his.

You both sat there, chewing on some nuts and fruits and sipping water.

Afterward, Bucky threw his eaten apple into the leaves and rested his head up against the tree.

You took that moment to observe him, but not making it too obvious.

Your promise to Steve resonates in your head.

He looked so young to you that you began to wonder how old he was, biologically. There was no way he was older than thirty-eight. You felt pity that he suffered so much so young.

“Can I ask you something?” You know you were fetching far. But screw it. His answer, was a tilt of his head and a peak of a blue iris at you, “how old are you?”

He squinted his eyes at you, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know you’re in your hundreds, but biologically?”

He looked away from you and closed his eyes again. His mouth was in a straight, harsh line.

“A lot older than you.”

You bit your lip, looking away.

“I miss my life before this. I miss Netflix and Spotify. Damnit, I miss Halsey.” His expression is unchanged, “Did you ever have a favorite song? You know, before — before everything?”

He knows what you’re asking but he doesn’t answer you. Instead, he runs two hands down his face and announces that you should both get going again.

You’re disappointed.

You had quickly gotten over the fact that he would never like you, if anything he hated you, but you both needed to find a common ground of respect, especially if you would be spending this much time together.

But he still wouldn’t abide by you. It was like he just didn’t care. Were you going to have to show him your true colors?

Eventually, the sun was beginning to set and Bucky suggested you both should set up camp.

He built a fire using wood and a lighter while you laid down both your blankets. He eyed you over the fire as you put his blanket straight across from his.

He wanted to thank you but his words wouldn’t come out. He was still stuck on the question you had asked him.

After the fire was just right, he tucked himself onto his uncomfortable grey blanket and laid his head on his arm.

Your eyes closed tightly together as you tried your best to go to sleep. You folded your knees against your small chest into a fetal position, to keep warm.

Bucky watched you from across the fire. You were a good girl.

But you shouldn’t be doing this. You were the kind of girl that was supposed to live in the aftermath of the successful mission, not the one fighting for it. You were going to get hurt.

Just like he did.

And he hated you for it. You were so young and had so much to live for.

He hated that he felt so many emotions for you that made him want to scream at you and make you go away. He wasn’t sure what they were but he knew none of them was anything romantic.

He would never feel that way about anyone else ever again.

He turned around in his blanket and closed his eyes tight together.

He did have a favorite song.

#Bucky Barens #Avengers #Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Smut #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky x You #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes Series #Winter Soldier fanfic #The falcon and winter soldier fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #MCU fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x Reader Series

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peterxwade24 · 4 years

Text

Safety Found in Red Sleeves Shorts

Pixie?!

The long awaited first short for my “Safety Found in Red Sleeves” fic. This is a Jason centric fic (with bonus Talia al Ghul) which takes place immediately following (and during) Jason’s escape from the ground.

Enjoy.

Jason forced his too dry eyes open, wherever he was it was too dark. He brought his hands up and pressed them against a flat surface. He pushed, using all of his strength to try to break free, and pushed until it moved even a little bit.

Jason didn't know how long it took before dirt started falling down on him. He shook his head to clear the dirt from his face before taking a deep breath and beginning to claw his way out of the dirt. He pulled his legs out of the unbroken part of the box and crawled his way out of the dirt around where he was buried.

Jason didn't know how long he spent trying to get out of the ground, he didn't know if it'd been a few minutes or if it'd been days. He just knew that it had felt like forever. All he knew was that he was finally out of the ground.

He took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head. He lunged to stretch his legs before looking around him, and finding himself in a cemetery. What was he doing in a cemetery?

He tried to think back over what he remembered but the last thing he remembered, he was twelve and was dropping Pixie off at school. He frowned, trying to recall anything after that. He couldn’t, he couldn’t remember anything after dropping Pixie off at school. Wait-

Where’s Pixie?

Jason whipped around, looking for Pixie’s dark red hair that somehow shined in the moonlight like a beacon he could follow anywhere, before letting out a mumbled “fuck.”

Jason’s mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario, that Pixie’s dad had taken her, before he shook his head. No, no. Pixie was smarter than that. She would have run, somewhere.

Where did they run when he was roaming the streets? Who gave them sanctuary? Who let them hide in their building?

“Who’s there? Visiting hours are over! Run-on home!” A security guard shouted from the security shack.

---

Jason stumbled over the uneven sidewalk, making his way to the closest area hospital, which wasn’t that far from the one that the Joker had attacked. He glared at the ground while he walked into the hospital and frowned.

He was seen by a nurse who assessed him for injuries before showing him to a room to shower, change out of his dirt-covered suit, and eat a few snacks before putting him back on the streets.

---

Jason glared at the woman who’s dagger was held at his throat. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What you want. Revenge. Bruce replaced you, he very easily filled the place in his life that you used to occupy.” Her lips twitched up in a sly grin and her green eyes twinkled with mirth.

“News flash lady. That’s not what I want.” Jason growled. His blue eyes were cold and calculating.

Talia’s smirk only grew as she closed in on Jason, pressing her slightly curved dagger firmly against his throat. “What is it you want? Do you want vengeance for your untimely death?”

Jason spit in her face, his anger apparent on his face. “Why would I tell you anything?”

Talia’s smirk only grew and she got in his face. “Isn’t there anyone you’re looking for? Anyone you left behind?” Talia’s voice grew quieter as she spoke. “We know about Pixie. We have Pixie.”

“You let her go right now!” Jason’s eyes lit up with anger and he growled. “You had no right.”

“Come with me and you can see her again.”

---

Jason pushed his body to the limit, trying to escape from Talia’s escort. He growled angrily. “You bitch! You fucking bitch! You fucking lied to me! I bet you don’t even know who Pixie is!”

“Dunk him.” Talia ordered with a sadistic gleam in her eye.

The two men holding Jason dropped him in the Pits. The two men grinned in response to the act of dropping the much too small boy in the Pits, he was only sixteen.

Jason broke the surface and gasped for air before his head was pushed back under. Jason snapped, using what little strength he had to break the ankle attached to the foot atop his head. Jason rose out of the Pits with a murderous grin on his face.

Jason brutally assaulted three men and was about to assault a fourth when he was pushed back into the Pits and when he reemerged a second time, he was more sound of mind. Meaning he was more of more use to Talia, and Talia was ready to break in her new toy.

Taglist

@southamericangothamite @maribat-is-lifeblood @mystery-5-5 @our-preciousss @mochegato @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitch @2confused-2doanything @wannajointhecrabcult @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmymind @moonlightstar64 @justafanwarrior @mialuvscats @pheony1882 @pepelachanel @moongoddesskiana @abrx2002 @ladybug-182 @greatcatblaze @thatonecroc @vixen-uchiha @superbwhispersconnoisseur @lilkymilky

#maribat #mlb crossover #ml crossover #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Safety Found in Red Sleeves #sfirs #platonic sibling jasonette #gothamite!Marinette

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #beccas1kwritingchallenge #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsmasterlist #bucky barnes

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 23

Exhaustion | Sleep Deprivation

Ao3

-o-o-o-o-

The water is ice cold. It immediately steals his breath as Tim instinctively tries to flinch away. He knows it's useless by now… his captors have done this enough times to where he knows they already have a good enough grasp on his arms and head to keep him under. Water assaults every single one of his senses, stinging his eyes and filling his nose and ears. He tries to hold his breath, tries to save what little strength he has left, but the water is freezing.

He doesn't last as long this time as he did the others. He has a pretty good guess as to why. It's the reason he's being dunked for the third time in a little over thirty-six hours. His lungs jolts and his heart races, he accidentally gasps and sucks in water.

He chokes, panic seeping through his skin into his chest, but the drowning doesn't last a moment longer after that. He's yanked up by his bruised arms and thrown to the ground, coughing and gagging up liquid.

By the time he's able to calm down enough to wipe water from his eyes and look up, they're gone. The tank they just used to drown him has been rolled off, and he's left alone in the middle of the cell, dripping wet and shivering.

He wishes they'd talk to him. Explain why they're doing this. He tried to demand answers… hours ago, but now all he has the energy to do is crawl to the wall and try to stick his shivering fingers between his neck and the shock collar locked around it.

It goes off whenever his heart beat drops too low. They bring in the tank whenever the collar doesn't wake him up enough.

He curls his fingers around his sore arms and tries to find something to keep him awake. There isn't much in the cell to do, especially with the low level of energy he has. The palm of his hands sting from where he's been pressing a screw into his skin whenever he felt his eyes slipping closed, but they confiscated that along with the bedframe he got it from when he tried to fight them with it.

He's not even sure why they gave him a bed in the first place. Not like he's going to be using it.

He sighs, coughs, and digs his fingers deeper under the collar. He's tried everything to get it off, even the screw, but nothing has worked. There's a viscous burn under his jaw where the electricity comes from. He's pretty sure the two metal conductors have pierced his skin and cauterized itself.

Which is bad. Really bad. He can't risk an infection like that. Not while he's running on negative hours of sleep and his immune system is already compromised.

He's bored. His head aches. There's nothing to do. His neck hurts. He's so, so tired.

Tired to the point where if he blinks, he might keep his eyes closed for a moment too long and not be able to open them back up until electricity shoots through his veins. It's a strange feeling to have. It feels like insomnia but twenty times worse. He's sure all the tea, coffee, and Red Bull's in the world wouldn't be able to fully wake him up.

He blinks for a moment too long. His eyes stay closed. His brain quiets without him even realizing.

He wakes up not a second later with his neck on fire.

He twitches on the ground for a few seconds, catching his breath and trying not to hit something in frustration.

Damn it. Damn it.

-o-o-o-o-

There's a man… watching him. Tim's lost track of time. He can barely focus. Everything hurts.

At first, he wasn't even sure if the man was real. He's been hallucinating for the last… maybe hour? He can't know for sure. But there's shadows, stalking him out the corners of his eyes. Jaws gaping. Limbs dripping. Eyes glowing red.

The man's real. Tim knows this because all he's doing is sitting on his little stool he brought in with him and watching. The shadows creep. They lunge then back away playfully. The friendlier looking ones—the ones that almost look like friendlier and familiar faces—turn and leave.

The man's real. And he's just sitting there. Watching. Tim desperately wants to know what's going on. Why he's here. But he can't do more than shift against the wall he's been leaning against since forever. His vision swarms and somewhere at the back of his mind, he knows he can't close his eyes to correct it. Not yet. He can't close his eyes.

He wakes up a moment later from a violent shock to his neck. Tim curls up and twitches, barely even hearing the man click his pen against a clipboard to scribble something.

All he's aware of is the burning in his neck and the congestion in his throat. The points where metal digs into his neck fester. His lungs still feel abused from the last dunking session.

It takes him a moment to look back up at the man—who's not wearing a mask… it's bad if kidnappers don't wear masks, isn't it? He can't recall… anyway the man is looking at him with a grin on his previously disinterested face. Tim realizes duly that he was waiting for Tim to fall asleep and shock himself.

The man snaps his fingers, and Tim straightens his gaze at him, not having realized his line of sight has shifted.

"You keep looking to your right. Is there any reason for that?"

And woah. Tim really didn't think he'd miss the sound of another human being's voice until now. Even though this guy is clearly in on Tim's torture, Tim's still feeling this… strange sense of loneliness he hasn't felt in a long time. Not since he was abandoned in his house. Not since Tim Drake was no one special. When Robin was a pipe dream. His eyes drift towards the shadowed form of a big, big man with bat-like ears. The man turns and walks away.

"There you go again," the man says, bringing Tim's sluggish thoughts back from the fake. He's smiling. Why is he so amused? "What are you seeing?"

"S… walkin' way…"

Tim blinks. Did he… really answer? He grabs at the collar and curls up. He wants to close his eyes so badly. Sleep. Ignore the shadows. Sleep. Ignore the shadows. Sleep. But he can't. He can't because the collar will hurt him until his body decides it wants to ignore it. The collar will hurt him until they come back with the water to restart every single one of his nerves.

"Who's walking away?"

How long has it been? He looks at the shadows. One is really short. Arms long and sharp like swords. Eyes slanted and white like a mask. Black fire spreads from it's back like a flowing cape.

There's one standing besides it. Skinny. But spindly. Contorting. It moves like silk. A comforting, soft flame surrounds it like an aura. But it's eyes are a judgmental, piercing blue. A sharp shadowed smile with sharp shadowed teeth.

Dick puts his hand on Damian's shoulder, and they walk away.

They all walk away.

Something snaps. Tim looks away from nothing towards the man. He's leaning forward with his hand stretched out, like he's about to snap. Again? Snap again. He already snapped.

Has Tim snapped?

"Are you having trouble concentrating?" The man asks. Tim forced himself to focus on him. Anything other than the moving forms stalking around him like he's a rabbit in a lion's den. "I only have a few more questions."

"M'… wan~na sleep. Wuh… d'ya want?" Tim's mouth doesn't want to work. He's so tired. The collar itches. He's really hungry.

"Just a few more questions, Red Robin."

Red Robin. Oh. Oh yeah. He's in his costume. A mask on his face. He was captured. Somehow. He can't... Can't remember. He can't trust this man. He shouldn't talk. He curls his fingers into the collar and tries to glare.

Glaring works. The shadows back off. The man, however, perks.

The man writes something in his clipboard. "On a scale of one to ten, how paranoid do you feel?"

What is this? Therapy? Tim should probably take therapy. Is he taking therapy? He's so tired. The shadows keep moving. Paranoid. Bruce is paranoid. He should tell the man that, cuz if this is therapy he should be honest, right?

The collar itches. Itches because he's captive. He's not at therapy. He shakes his head. It's so hard to focus. Paranoid. He can't focus enough to be paranoid.

"How about your libido? Have you noticed it fluctuate?"

Tim wants to sleep. He can't remember what libido… leb… what lid… what did he ask?

Therapy. He's at therapy.

The shadows turn away. Run at him. He flinches.

His collar itches. He closes his eyes for a moment too long, and he wakes up with a shock, the click of a pen, and a small sigh.

"Do you have any suicidal thoughts?"

Tim can't help it. He laughs. He wants to joke and say when hasn't he? But then he remembers cape and captive and abduction.

Libido is a funny word. Libido! He asked libido. Tim laughs.

"Leebee… nnnooo."

"Hmm, maybe I should come back when you're… more awake. I have the boys on an ice run."

Tim stops laughing there. Ice. Tim hates ice. He hates water. He shakes his head. "M'fine… nnnnot thirsty… tired…"

The man stands up. Tim hates it. He wants him to sit down. Come back. Talk with him more. Let him sleep.

The man stands up. He turns and walks away.

They all walk away.

Tim wakes up a moment later from a shock to his neck and he wants to cry.

-o-o-o-o-

More awake is a suggestive word. Is Tim more awake like this? His lungs burning for air? Ice assaulting every sense? Gagging on water and not being able to breath? Thrown to the floor to cough and throw up, then blink frozen drops from his lashes?

Yeah. He's a little more awake. But not by much.

The man asks his questions anyway, as Tim trembles on the ground and tries to not focus on Jason screaming in his ear that he's nothing special. Tim already knows. It's been so long. He doesn't need a hallucination to tell him things he already knows.

"Are you hallucinating?"

Yeah. Tim is hallucinating. But the thing about being more awake is that he's just awake enough to know to not answer this psychopath.

"Who was walking away?"

Everyone. Everyone walks away eventually. Leaves Tim alone. They're not coming. He knows. They won't bother.

"What about your libido? Any urges?"

What a stupid question. Show Tim a picture of his boyfriend and maybe he'll be able to answer. He misses Kon.

"Suicidal thoughts?"

Tim breaks down crying. He hates this. He hates this so much. He really wants to sleep. He really really wants to sleep and never wake up.

The man sighs. He stands up. He walks away.

-o-o-o-o-

When Tim finds Damian standing in front of him, face pulled into strange features that could almost be worry, the first thing he thinks is what a strange hallucination this is. Normally, when he sees fake Damian, the brat is demonic and vile. Blood oozing from his tear ducts. His lips stretching into a demon's sneer.

But this Damian is… normal. He looks like how Tim remembers the little gremlin to look. But worry is new too.

"I found him," Damian mutters into his comm. Then, he turns his eyes towards Tim and sets his mouth into a wobbling frown. "Timothy…?"

Drake. Someone sneers and Tim flinches. Closes his eyes. Wakes up from an electric shock.

And gremlin Damian is still there, eyes wide and mouth open, staring down at Tim's neck with… sickening realization.

"How long… have you been kept awake this whole time?"

Tim nods his head and clutches the collar with his numb fingers. Nods because he's awake awake awake awake and he'll always be awake and he'll die awake.

Gremlin Damian scowls. Reaches forward to grab Tim's hands. Tim tries to fight off the hallucination. They haven't- they haven't been able to touch him before. But he can feel it. Gentle fingers on his wrists, pulling his hands away from the collar so Damian can bring his free hand to his neck. Tim's heart speeds up. Maybe it's still slow, but to him it feels like a wardrum.

He tries to cringe away. But it's useless. Damian brings his hand—which is holding a knife—to Tim's neck. Tim wants to cry. He wants to sleep. He wants to die. He's so done. He's-

Pressure lets up from his neck with a painful tug. Tim chokes for a second, then brings his hands to his neck the moment Damian steps back. The collar hangs in his gloved hand. He throws it across the room while Tim rubs his sore neck.

He can feel the charred skin where the electricity persistently entered his body whenever… whenever…

Can... Can he…?

"Rr… y… real?"

Damian's face softens. The shadows turn and walk away, but Damian sits down in front of him and looks so genuine. "Yes. I'm real. We're here."

And Tim… believes it. He has to. He can feel his neck.

Can... Can he…?

"Hhh… hhoow… long..."

"Almost seven days."

Seven days.

Tim's so tired.

"Sleep, Timothy. We're here. All of us. Even that alien you like so much. It's okay now."

He can… can he… sleep?

His eyes close against his will, and for a terrifying moment he thinks something will hurt him for it… but his eyes stay closed and nothing hurts more than what it already does. His eyes stay closed and everything dulls.

His eyes stay closed. Safe. Found.

They came. And everything is okay now.

His eyes stay closed and he sleeps.

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insaneasgardian · 4 years

Text

Harsh Measures

(Not a x Reader insert)

Pairings: A little Irondad, and hinted Stucky.

Summary: Nick Fury finds a very unique way to discipline his team of superheroes.

Warnings: I don’t think there is any, but if you find anything triggering please let me know and I’ll put it here.

An arrow zipped towards Tony Stark, who dodged it at the last second. “Ha! You missed” exclaimed the billionaire to the owner of the said arrow; the one and only Hawkeye. He simply smirked, “Got you to look” he said. This caused Tony to frown, he stood still in confusion, and this gave the newest avenger, Spiderman, an opportunity to dunk a bucket of pink paint all over his mentor. “Sorry Mr. Stark!” he said, “Mr. Barton gave me $50 to do it!”. Ironman shook his head and sighed, looking around at the rest of the avengers who were currently in a state of utter chaos. Loki and Natasha appeared to be flicking knives at each other, which was much more catastrophic for the fragile furniture around them, than for the 2 contenders themselves. Clint was now engaged in trying to lift Mjolnir, while a very drunk Thor staggered around the common room, laughing at his friends failed attempts to pick up the hammer. Bucky had dared Sam to stick a metal fork in the electric socket, and Sam, who had been intoxicated by Thor’s Asgardian ale had gladly accepted the challenge. Vision and Pietro appeared to be fighting, as per usual, with the speedster running around and breaking things around the fancy room. Wanda desperately tried to get her brother and her lover to stop fighting by using her magic to hold them both still.

Amidst all the chaos, Captain America frantically ran to and fro, being the only responsible adult, he tried to get all the others to stop whatever danger they were inflicting on themselves and others. “He-Hey! Sam, no, don’t do that!”, “Pietro, Vision, you two stop this RIGHT NOW!”, “LOKI, NAT! PUT THE KNIVES DOWN!”. Peter and Tony simply stood in the middle of all this watching as the hyperactive Avengers ripped the lovely room to shreds. “Mr. Stark... should we help Mr. Rogers?” Tony shrugged, “Nah”. Peter nervously fidgeted then quickly glanced around the room, “Mr. Stark, have you seen Mr. Banner anywhere?” he meekly inquired, the older man looked towards his favorite kid and once again told him, “Nah”.

As the Avengers common room soon began to look more like a pig sty, a certain Bruce Banner heard a racket from his lab just one floor below all the commotion. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and contemplated whether or not he should go upstairs and check out what was happening. After a minute or two of thinking, he took off his lab coat and hung it up on the rack. He would go up. He strolled into the elevator and pressed the button for the common room. The scientist tapped his foot impatiently as his brain began to play out several possible scenarios for the cause of the cause of the ruckus. However, none of these scenarios were as crazy as the one he saw when he stepped out the elevator coming to a standstill to see what appeared to be a couch with beer spilled all over it, knives sticking out all over, and Peter and Tony sitting on it eating shawarma.

The very confused doctor looked over and surveyed the rest of the scene, knives flying around, drunk idiots trying to lift mjolnr, more drunk idiots doing potentially life threatening stuff, a mutant and a robot in a duel, a witch and America’s golden boy trying to stop the chaos.... meh, just another day in Avengers tower. Bruce turned to leave, he was used to all the disarray, and he much rather wished to be alone in the lab. However, the minute he turned his back, a crumpled up shawarma wrapper hit Dr. Banner’s back....

And that did it.

All the avengers froze as their gentle friend’s face contorted and turned green, every vein in his body pulsating as his entire body enlarged, all his clothes dropped to the ground, leaving him bare except for a pair of purple shorts covering his lowering half. The hulk had been unleashed.

“NO FIGHTTTT!” Exclaimed the big guy, before slamming his fist into the ground and running off, eventually destroying a good portion of Stark tower.

“2 HOURS! IT TOOK AN ENTIRE 2 HOURS BEFORE ROMANOFF COULD LOCATE HIM AND CALM HIM DOWN!” Exclaimed the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D as he paced back in the forth in the meeting room, glaring at all the heroes with his one eye. Next to him stood the kind and loved Phil Coulson, who currently happened to be looking over the team over Avengers, shooting a few whom he happened to make eye contact with looks of pity. Earth’s mightiest heroes all shrunk in their seats in front of Fury, for each and every one of them had faced his wrath before and did not wish to come face to face with it again.

The very annoyed director suddenly slammed his fists on the table, causing everybody in the room to flinch and sit up straight. “I’ve given you idiots enough chances,” he muttered, everybody looked in horror at each other as they all thought about the director’s next words, “All of you, -Save for Cap, Bruce and Wanda as they had nothing to do with it- shall be punished for your immature behavior”. Steve, Bruce and Wanda breathed a sigh of relief as a wave of terror washed over the rest of the team, what would he ask them to do?

“All of you who I believe deserve to be disciplined, shall sit in this meeting room for 5 HOURS!”. Everybody let out a collected gasp, because... 5 hours? That was a harsh punishment, even for them! Even Coulson looked terrified for his friends. “That’s not all....” hummed Fury, “You’ll all have to watch a 5 hour long Rappin’ With Cap compilation”. Wanda, Bruce and Steve looked at their friends in dread and pity as their was a deadly silence in the air, the offenders jaws had dropped, their eyes wide as the realization sunk in... they had screwed up BAD, and they were getting the worst imaginable punishment for it. “I don’t care if anybody has a date, I don’t care if anyone has a mission, I don’t care if someone has homework, hell, I don’t even care if somebody has a funeral to attend! Each and every one of you will sit here watching the video, understood?” Spoke Fury in a low, threatening voice. The punished Avengers frantically nodded, not wanting to anger their director further.

Nicholas Fury’s one eye darted around the room, making sure nobody was stepping a toe out of line, before he pulled up his computer screen on the projector and the 5 hour long compilation started to load. He then proceeded to walk out the room, Phil, Wanda, Steve and Bruce following him, as soon as they all stepped out, Coulson locked the door behind them. The unlucky avengers that were locked in looked at each other nervously, terrified of the 5 hour torture they were to endure. Within a few seconds of a black screen loading the video, Steve himself in full Captain America gear popped up on screen.

“So... you got a detention.” Began America’s golden boy as everybody in the room groaned and prepared themselves for the longest hours of their life.

“You look terrible!” Exclaimed the younger Maximoff as she saw her exhausted teammates slinking into the room. “Gee, thanks Wanda” murmured Peter as he collapsed onto Tony who was equally exhausted, and hugged the kid before crashing on the couch. “What took so long?” inquired Bruce, “You were in there for 7 hours instead of 5!”. Sure enough, when a few of the heroes glanced at the clock, they saw it was late in the evening. “Stark tried to pause the video... but Fury somehow found out and extended the punishment.” breathed out Thor before grabbing a glass of water and downing it all in one gulp. “Well that’s too bad isn’t it” smirked Loki. “You were in there as well...” Pietro reminded him, “Was I though...?” whispered the trickster. Natasha gasped, “Why you little... you created a clone of yourself!”. The prince grinned like a cheshire cat and nodded. Bucky groaned loudly as he flopped on the loveseat next to the couch, and rested his head in Steve’s lap, “If you’d just listened to me” sighed Cap “Let this be a lesson to always do as I say” proclaimed Captain America. The culprits that contributed to unleashing the hulk all glared at the Captain, the cause of their current state. “No” said Peter breaking the deadly silence, “No, I don’t think I will”.

#Irondad #Stucky #Nick Fury #Punished Avengers #Hulk Unleashed #Avengers in trouble #Avengers #Marvel

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punyparkerfics · 4 years

Text

No Lifeguard on Duty!

Kid!Peter and Bio mom!Tony go swimming with the Avengers!

TW/CW: PTSD-triggered panic attack. nothing graphic.

Word Count: ~6.7k

A/N: y’all are seeing it first. here it will be for a bit before I post it to AO3, just to show my appreciation to those that have followed. thanks for the support! xx

Edit: This is part of my One-off series! It is now available on AO3!

⋆⋆☆⋆⋆

It was a warm June afternoon when Clint suggested at the tail-end of a meeting that the team should have a poolside team bonding session. Thor and Natasha instantly agreed, excited at the idea of sunbathing and taking a dip in Tony’s luxurious indoor lap pool.

Bruce looked to Tony expectantly. The billionaire froze for a moment before recovering and sniffing audibly. Steve knew immediately that the woman was deflecting when she just shrugged and agreed.

“I’m sure the kiddie will get a kick out of it,” She said casually, “Rhodey will join us if that’s okay.”

The kid in question was Tony’s precious son, Peter. The team had just met the (nearly) three-year-old two weeks before, and they were immediately enamored. Peter’s doe eyes and baby brown curls were hard enough to resist, but the kid was shockingly the sweetest kid any of them had ever met. Most of them (except Thor), had unfairly expected the tot to be a spoiled brat that screamed and threw things or even a gross sticky ball of self-centered energy. But the boy was shy yet friendly, very giving and sweet as candy. Peter charmed the socks off of the team but that was expected, he is a Stark after all.

The thing that shocked them even further was just how maternal Tony was with him. The genius was as far away from being the type to be a loving and affectionate mother as possible, if what their first impression of her was anything to base their judgment on. However, Tony was as gentle as could be with the boy. She was an adoring mother who doted on her son, showering him with hugs and kisses and pet names that made even Natasha feel a little gooey inside. It was a nice light to see their teammate in after the battle of New York ended.

Tony worked diligently ever since Peter was conceived to be sure her baby was the most protected life-form on the planet. Peter was her second chance after Afghanistan and she didn’t cut a single corner when it came to the boy’s safety, meaning security was upped even more once Natalie Rushman caught wind of him. Military vetted bodyguards, ironclad encryptions on all legal and medical documents pertaining to the child, and airtight NDA’s for any unauthorized person that so much suspected Tony Stark had a son were just the beginning of the laundry lists of precautions Tony took for her baby. Nonetheless, all the avengers loved Peter and jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him.

They’d only been able to see him a couple of times, as Tony had just returned from taking him to London for a few days to see some sort of astronomy exhibit or another. But, now the genius was basically offering an afternoon in the sun with a sweet little boy and a luxury pool. Basically, Steve and Bruce were sold.

Tony told the team that the pool was clean and ready, that they were welcome to go ahead and wait until she got her son ready and collected Rhodey. It took about two hours for the whole team to reconvene at the indoor swimming pool. The windows opened and sunlight beamed throughout the whole room, reflecting off the surface of the large body of water. Clint immediately ripped his shirt off and kicked his sandals away before running and belly-flopping into the pool. Steve winced audibly as Natasha rolled her eyes and Thor chuckled grandly. Widow had removed her makeup and braided her hair back. Her clothes from the day’s meeting had been swapped out for a black one-piece swimsuit that showed off a large portion of her back. She shook her head at the sight of Clint resurfacing and squirting water out of his mouth before whooping and dunking himself back underwater.

Steve shook his head and joined Doctor Banner, who was sitting on one of the beach chairs a few yards away from the pool, underneath a canopy for shade. Steve sat down on the chair beside the doctor, his eyes scanning the large open area. Admittedly, the two were only there to see Peter (and Tony, but neither would ever admit it), so they watched as Thor cannon-balled into the pool with a grand shout and plenty of amusement. Natasha called out with a deadpan tone,

“You get a 10. It had everything, theatrics, a battle cry, and a big splash. Incredible.”

“What about me?” Clint asked as he backstroked the length of the pool, his eyes on her.

“You’ve caught me on a day I’m most generous,” She replied, “You get a 2.”

“I have a feeling this competition is rigged,” Clint replied, disappearing under the surface of the water once again. Natasha shook her head and dipped her toes in the water before walking down the steps of the pool, sighing in contentment as she floated in the shallow end.

“How many times do I have to say it, Honeybear?” Tony’s voice came from the far end of the room towards the elevator, “Let me be a hot mama.”

“Just seems a little excessive, is all I’m saying,” Rhodey replied with an unimpressed shrug of his shoulders.

“To you,” Tony said, all the heads in the room turning to her and the boy in her arms, “Because you have no taste.”

Rhodey shook his head and grumbled under his breath before greeting the team. Tony bounced the toddler in her arms as she set down a small backpack on one of the unoccupied beach chairs, a melody of giggles filling the room. Steve and Bruce smiled, looking up at the boy in the billionaire’s arms.

“Say hi, tesoro. They came to see you and go swimming.” Tony said with a smile as she set him down to stand on the chair. She rifled through the bag, bending over to find something within it. Underneath a long and worn Black Sabbath t-shirt, the light blue of her bikini bottoms poked through. Steve cleared his throat as his eyes caught the curve of her rump, forcing himself to focus on the toddler before him and not his teammate’s rear.

“Hey, Peter,” Steve greeted with a smile, “It’s nice to see you. Are you ready to go swimming?”

“Yeah!” Peter cheered, throwing his little arms up in the air, “Mommy say I can ‘o swimmin’ wif’ my floadies on!”

Peter climbed over to Steve with a smile, “C’mon, cap! We gotta get the pool toys!”

“Aye, mimmo,” Tony called out to her son, “What did we agree goes before playing in the sun?”

“Sumbloc’!” The boy replied dutifully, turning to his mother, “But can me an’ cap just get the toys? Real quick, mommy, please?”

“Alright, if your skin falls off,” Tony began passively, “Don’t come to me cryin’ about it.”

Peter just giggled in response, grabbing Steve’s hand and making a big show of trying to pull him up off the beach chair. The boy planted his little feet and squeezed his eyes shut in strain, little grunts came from him as he pulled with all his might to get the super soldier on his feet. Steve smiled, pretending to fight back against the child’s pull.

“Gosh, Peter,” Steve pretended to strain, “You’re getting too strong, kid.”

Peter giggled again, putting smiles on everyone’s lips.

“Cus’ I like brock'ly now! Brock'ly makes you big and strong!” Peter exclaimed, showing off his little arms.

“No kidding,” Steve chuckled, now allowing the (nearly) three-year-old drag him to the large shed that held all the pool accessories. He helped the child pick out inner tubes and beach balls, as well as foam pool noodles and water guns, and carry them back to the beach chairs. Steve laid them down on the chair he was sitting on previously when Tony came over and scooped up the toddler.

He looked up and noticed the genius had taken off the oversized shirt she had previously adorned, leaving a simple baby blue bikini wrapped around her surprisingly pale skin. The arc reactor shone, the scar tissue around it now a pale pink. Rhodey was honestly surprised Tony was showing off her body at all. The woman was never above advertising her assets, but those closest to Tony knew that her chest was something sensitive to her. The Colonel himself had seen it plenty of times, but he’d known the genius for half of her life. These people, her team, were almost strangers. Rhodey didn’t know whether to worry about his friend or be proud that she was getting more comfortable with either her body or the Avengers; either was a big step for her.

Tony’s toned legs had the odd scrape or bruise along them, no doubt from the Iron Woman suit or chasing around a rambunctious toddler. Steve caught himself staring before shaking his head and turning to Bruce, who was hiding his own blushing face in a book.

Steve turned to those in the pool to see Natasha dunking Clint underwater and Thor cheering her on.

“C’mon, lovebug,” Tony said, wrangling a squirmy Peter in her arms as she sat on the beach chair beside Steve, “Sunblock time.”

Steve decided to just get into the pool and save himself any embarrassment. If you asked him, he was just shocked at the genius’ pale skin and not at all fawning over how beautiful she looked. Steve was simply washed with admirable respect, as it was clear Tony trusted her team enough to be so vulnerable around them. Not only was she literally in a bikini, with nowhere to hide her scars or traumatic body modifications, she was also allowing them to be with her son.

For that, Steve was certainly not ogling at her slight curves and toned muscle, nor was he appreciating how much seeing her like that reminded him what decade he was currently standing in.

Her long brown hair was tied up, and her makeup was immaculate. It was odd to Steve that she had seemingly refreshed her makeup since the meeting. Even Natasha had come to the pool barefaced, given the activity they were participating in. Steve admittedly didn’t know much about cosmetics, but he knew they didn’t typically mix well with water. Either way, the soldier whipped off his shirt and set aside his shoes before diving into the pool and literally swimming away from the warmth swirling in his chest.

“Jesus, Tony,” Rhodey chuckled, “You get paler and paler every time I come back from work. You keep that boy inside too much. Maybe leave the lab once in a while. Take him to the park or something.”

“Peter has sensitive skin,” Tony shrugged, lathering children’s sunblock on the boy in question. Her gentle hands caressed his baby soft skin which was considerably paler in comparison to Tony’s.

“Doesn’t mean you gotta make my nephew into a naked mole-rat,” Rhodey replied.

“Not a mole rat!” Peter cried indignantly to his uncle as his mother carefully applied sunblock to his face.

“That’s right,” Tony nodded, giving her son a serious face, “Stop being mean to my baby, sour patch.”

“Mean uncle Whodey!” Peter pouted, “Stinky face!’

At that, Natasha chuckled at the boy’s antics and Steve and Bruce couldn't hide their adoring smiles.

“Okay, boys,” Tony said with a smile on her face, “Play nice, or you both get time out.”

Peter sat up straight and looked up at his mother with a look of urgency on his face before miming zipping his mouth shut. Rhodey just rolled his eyes in response.

“Ca’ I go swimmin’ now, mommy?” Peter asked, bouncing up and down on her lap with a winning smile.

“You have to wait a little bit for the sunblock to soak in, Pete,” Tony replied, “Just sit in the shade for 15 minutes, then you can go.”

The genius began applying sunblock on her own skin, knowing Peter would protest wearing the gloopy stuff if his mom didn’t put it on too. Tony, once again, unknowingly earned the attention of most of the adults in the room. She was more occupied watching her son scribble on his coloring book with the crayons she had packed in his bag, her hands expertly massaging the lotion onto her legs, then stomach and chest. Her hands migrated to the exposed skin on the top of her breasts, effectively avoiding the reactor, and neck as Steve felt his throat go dry. Before he could stop himself from staring, he was accosted with a blast of water. Steve shook the water from his face and looked up to see Rhodey with a water gun, attacking him and the other avengers that happened to be staring at the billionaire. He looked up to see Bruce shaking water off of his hair and a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Eyes up,” Rhodey called out with a mischievous grin, causing Steve to duck in embarrassment. Steve was a timid man when it came to women like Tony even back in the day, and that was with women from his own time period. A modern woman like Tony Stark, a woman that he admittedly didn’t treat fairly upon their first meeting was someone he couldn’t dream of shooting straight with. Plus, she was a dedicated mother with more things to worry about than Good ol’ Captain America giving her googly eyes. A woman like Tony could get any man (or woman) she desired, and Steve knew she wouldn’t choose a man that judged her harshly without him knowing her personally.

His attention was brought back to Peter who laughed loudly at his uncle’s antics, as the man continued to blast Thor for his own amusement.

“Mommy! Mommy! I wanna play with unca’ Whodey!” Peter exclaimed, turning to his mother. The genius was laying back in her reclined beach chair with her son at her feet, just relaxing in the shade.

“Just a few more minutes, baby bear,” Tony replied, running her fingers through her hair as she took down her bun.

“But, mommy!” Peter whined, climbing over to sit on her lap, “Wanna p’ay now!”

“I know, patatino,” Tony hummed, pulling the boy towards her and laying him flat against herself. Their chests pressed together and Peter rested his face on her collarbone, snuggling close, his chubby little hand laying flat against the arc reactor. Steve smiled at the idea of Peter adoring the light in his mother’s chest, his own personal nightlight that brought a whole new sense of security with her embrace.

“Just gotta wait for your sunblock to soak in,” Tony replied softly, her hands lightly rubbing the boy’s bare back, “Then you and uncle platypus can play all you want. Okay?”

“Okay, mommy,” Peter sighed, enjoying the feeling of relaxing in his mother’s arms. Peter was a mellow and well-behaved boy so moments like this weren’t uncommon. He loved just being with his momma. He liked having her in his sight but he LOVED being held in her arms.

The team looked on with fond smiles as the two Starks cuddled close, Rhodey taking a seat beside them and reclining with an audible exhale.

“Don’t get too comfy, Honeybear,” Tony smirked, “Pete’s gonna drag you into the pool in just a few minutes.”

“Want you to come swimmin’ wif us, mommy,” Peter said quietly, his eyes focused on a birthmark staining his mother’s arm. He circled the small spot with his finger, anxiously awaiting Tony’s reaction. Peter knew his mommy didn’t like swimming, she didn’t even like getting wet. Sometimes, if he splashes too much in the bath, Uncle Rhodey has to come in and help him while his mommy goes into her room and waits. At first, Peter felt really bad, he didn’t mean to be a bad boy; splashing’s just fun!

Uncle Rhodey and Auntie Pepper tell him it’s not because he’s a bad boy, just because Mommy had some scary stuff happen to her. And getting wet sometimes reminds her of it. They tell him about a time before he was born that his Mommy was taken to a scary place and bad people did scary things to her. They told him that sometimes it gives her nightmares and that’s why he can’t sleep in Mommy’s bed with her some nights, even though he wants to! He wants to be there with his mommy so he can help her calm down from a nightmare just like she does for him sometimes!

Tony tensed slightly, her grip on Peter tightening a bit before she drew in a deep breath.

“Uncle Rhodey’s going swimming with you, cucciolo,” Tony sighed, combing her fingers through the boy’s curls. It was something she’s done since Peter was born, as touching her baby’s hair provided both of them immense comfort, “I’ll be right here watching you, though.”

“But, mommy,” Peter pouted, sitting up in his mother’s lap, “Wan’ you to come too!”

Peter knew his mommy was scared of the water, but he and Uncle Rhodey would be right there with her! She’d be okay, and see that the water isn’t scary! Even the avengers were there, too. His mommy would be kept safe and protected and she’d see how much fun swimming is! As long as no one splashes her, she’ll have so much fun with him and his uncle! Peter just knows it! Plus, mommy helps him get over his fears all the time. Like the time she showed him that there were no monsters hiding in his closet, or the time she showed him that his broccoli hadn’t been poisoned.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rhodey offered gently to his nephew, “We can have fun without your mom with us. She’ll be close by watching.”

“No!” Peter shook his head, leaning forward and resting his face onto Tony’s chest, “Wan’ mommy.”

“Peter—” Tony began before Clint interrupted.

“C’mon, Stark!” The archer called out, floating on his back, “You’re not going to deprive the kid of fun in the sun with his ma, are ya?”

“Clint,” Natasha began to reprimand, catching Steve’s attention.

“What? Team bonding, right?” Clint shrugged.

“Bruce hasn’t gotten in the pool,” Natasha pointed out with a nod in the Doctor’s direction.

“Bruce didn’t come with a kid,” Clint countered, “If Pete wants his mom to swim with him, she should swim with him.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said to the genius, ignoring the talk from the pool, “I’ll go in with him, don’t worry.” “Mommy,” Peter mustered up his best puppy dog eyes and stuck out his bottom lip before saying, “Please?”

Tony tried her best to control her breathing. Her hands were hardly shaking where they rested on the small of her son’s back.

“We would most enjoy it if you joined our team festivity, Stark,” Thor encouraged, “And your little Starkson would be comforted by your engagement.”

“Tony,” Rhodey tried again. He really didn’t want what was supposed to be a fun day for the family and new friends to turn into a PTSD-related panic attack; not if he could help it.

But Tony brushed him off. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of her team. She didn’t want to prove that she wasn’t good enough to be an actual avenger rather than merely a consultant. She also didn’t want them to think she was too good to give her son anything he asked of her, as innocent as the request was. The inventor was already overly critical and self-conscious of her decision to wear a bikini in front of the team, with nowhere to hide the scars littering her body. In her head, she tried convincing herself that she just wanted to show off that she was matching Peter’s baby blue swim trunks. It was sort of her thing, anyway, to coordinate her son’s outfits with her own.

But, for Peter, she’d do anything. She’d suck up her paralyzing fear of water, for Peter. She’d agree to even go poolside at all, for Peter. So, for Peter, the genius sucked in a deep breath and stood up.

“Tony,” Rhodey said, standing up to either intervene or at least take Peter.

“C’mon, pup,” Tony said, bouncing the toddler in her arms again, “Let’s get your floaties on.”

“Mommy come?” Peter asked with a smile.

“Yeah” Tony nodded with a wide smile. They’d all seen that smile before, and Steve would give anything to know if it was genuine. “Mommy’s gonna go in the pool with you, okay? But we gotta be careful.”

Peter nodded dutifully and held his arm out for Rhodey as he approached with the inflated water wings.

“Are you sure about this, Tones?” Rhodes asked quietly, “I could take him, he won’t put up much of a fuss once he’s in there. We both know —”

“It’s fine,” Tony shook her head, her smile not leaving her face but her eyes refusing to meet the Colonel’s eyes.

“Mommy, we gonna have so much fun!” Peter cheered, offering his uncle his other arm to slide the other water wing onto.

“Yeah,” Tony replied with her own toned-down level of cheer. Steve’s heart dropped as he realized Tony was not at all comfortable with the idea of getting into the water. Was it because of them? Was it because she’d caught Steve or Bruce staring at her before? Had they made her uncomfortable? Gosh, he’d really —

“C’mon, bambino,” Tony hummed, taking shaky steps towards the large pool. She looked over the surface of the water and swallowed hard. Steve was looking up at her from the water with concern, while Nat was somewhat shepherding Thor and Clint over to the deeper end of the pool, away from where Tony stood near the steps.

“JARVIS,’ Tony called out, her voice surprisingly even, “What’s the water temp?”

“The water is sitting a standard 78 degrees Fahrenheit,” The AI dutifully replied, “Would you like me to adjust it?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, “A little warmer, please… For the baby,”

“Certainly, madame,” JARVIS replied and the team felt the water get warmer around them. Not uncomfortably so, but it was definitely noticeable. Clint rolled his eyes and turned back to his attempt to explain the rules of Marco Polo to Thor.

“No cold water,” Peter said wearily, looking down at the water.

“Water’s nice and warm, kid,” Rhodey said softly beside them and Tony wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Peter.

“Uncle Whodey come too?” Peter asked, turning to face his uncle with a stunning smile.

“Of course,” Rhodey nodded, “I’m not letting your mom take all the fun.”

Tony appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood as she took another shaky step towards the pool stairs. Rhodey followed suit.

“Wait!” Peter called out, “We need the pool toys!”

“Right,” Tony chuckled nervously, turning around and walking Peter over to the beach chair that held the toys in question, “Silly me. How could I forget the pool toys?”

“Whatcha got, Stark?” Clint asked as he pulled himself up and out from the side of the pool, trudging over to the chair dripping wet.

“We got noodles and beach balls and water guns,” Peter called out excitedly, leaning forward in his mom’s grab to reach out for a toy. The boy was confident his mother would never drop him so he didn’t bother hanging onto her tightly.

“We got a whole shed of more, Legolas,” Tony nodded in the direction of the shed Peter had retrieved the toys with Steve before, “Knock yourself out.”

“Sweet,” Clint nodded and made his way over to the shed.

“Uncle Whodey!” Peter called out, extending his arms to hand over a beach ball to the Colonel, “We gotta p’ay vowwy ball!”

“You got it, squirt,” Rhodey chuckled, taking the ball from the toddler.

“And we need a noodle!” Peter exclaimed, reaching from Tony’s grip to grab a pool noodle. The boy hugged the red foam tube in his arms and gave his mother a cheeky smile.

“Okay,” Tony said, “Ready, bear?”

“Yeah!” Peter cheered, bouncing lightly in his mother’s arms as she slowly made her way back to the pool steps. She decided she’d already made a scene too big for the other avengers not to notice her trepidation. So, pointedly ignoring the screaming voice in her head and the pounding in her chest, she cuddled her baby closer to her chest and took slow and steady steps down into the shallow end of the pool. Tony focuses all her attention on the smile spreading across Peter’s face. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek and continues to wade a little further into the shallow water.

Tony hears the sound of someone entering the pool behind her, making her stiffen up and tighten her hold on Peter.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Rhodey’s calm voice sounds from behind her and she feels his hand steadily rest on the small of her back, “This is far enough.”

Tony nods, her shoulders still stiff with anxiety. The genius takes a deep breath before settling the toddler in her arms down to float in front of her.

“We swimmin’, Mommy!” Peter exclaimed, a look of pride evident on his face. Tony tried to focus every ounce of anxiety in her on the smile on her baby’s face. Peter was okay. She was okay. Rhodey was okay. They were in a pool in Manhattan, not a cave in Afghanistan. It was okay.

Tony took in another deep breath and gave her son a small smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Tony nods, “Just stay close to Mommy, okay?”

“Le’s go dis way!” Peter squeals, kicking his feet towards where Thor, Steve, and Natasha were floating, waiting for Clint to return, “Cap! Look’it me! I’m swimmin’ too!”

“Wow,” Steve smiled at the boy, “You swim really good, Pete. Look how fast you’re going.”

“Peter,” Tony called out, as the boy made his way further away from the safety of the shallow end, towards the deep end of the pool, “Peter, come to Mommy, please.”

“Mommy, le’s swim wif Cap!” Peter called out, turning back to face his mother.

“You have to stay in the shallow end, topolino,” Tony called out, her voice almost cracking at the end as her heart rate began to pick up again. Peter was out of her reach, swimming away from her. Sure, he was swimming towards the Great Captain America, but that was her baby. At that moment, her motherly instincts overpowered her self-preservation instinct as she waded further into the water towards her retreating son. As the water got deeper, it rose from just above her waist towards the bottom of her chest. The water began to slowly rise up her chest and Tony felt like the air in her lungs began to somehow liquify.

“Tony,” Rhodey called out behind her, “It’s okay. Stay right there. I’ll get him, he’s okay.”

Steve, noticing the look of pure panic on the billionaire’s face, instinctively scooped the paddling toddler up into his arms and held him securely against his chest.

“Everything alright?” The Captain asked, his voice filled with concern. He knew, logically, the boy wouldn’t drown on his watch. There were seven adults in the room with Peter that would obviously intervene before any harm came to him. But clearly, there was something the Colonel and the billionaire knew that the rest of the team didn’t and it was making them all very nervous. Tony just whimpered and nodded, her arms snaking around her waist and hugging herself tightly. Her eyes were distant and unseeing, glazed over with fear. And, she was shivering despite the warm water and sun beating down on her exposed skin.

Rhodey wades over to the Captain and reaches out to grab his nephew.

“C’mon, Pete,” Rhodey says softly, “Let’s stay closer to Mommy, okay?”

“But I’m swimmin’, Uncle Whodey! I’m swimmin wif Cap!” The boy replied, climbing into the man’s arms anyway, “It’s otay.”

“I know, buddy. But your mom wants you to stay a little closer to her, okay?” The Colonel said softly, turning to take the boy back to his mother.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked with worry, but before the question could fully leave his lips, Clint came rushing back to the pool with a yellow inflated duck-shaped inner tube around his waist. The archer was giving out a mighty battle cry as he came running towards the pool before he jumped and cannonballed into the water.

The splash from the landing sprayed out far and wide, even getting Bruce the smallest bit wet from his spot. Natasha muttered out a curse in Russian, Thor bellowed in joyful laughter, and Steve just shook the water from his face. Peter squealed in delight before erupting in a fit of giggles.

“Tony,” Rhodey’s nervous voice sounded, causing Steve to look over at the billionaire with concern.

“Stark,” Steve exhaled, beginning to wade over to Tony who is visibly trying to keep herself calm but failing. The genius was beginning to hyperventilate and looked around the pool with eyes unseeing and blown out with fear. Once her eyes land on Peter still giggling in his uncle’s arms, safe, Tony frantically tries to make her way out of the pool.

Water splashed around her as she tried flailing out to the steps, the speed not sufficient enough to soothe her panic. Steve’s worry only increased, but he gently held Tony by the waist and helped her tread over to the side of the pool to make her escape quickly. Tony grunted and grabbed the railing once she was close enough to pull herself out of the offending water. She climbed out and scrambled to her feet, hurrying towards the door she, Colonel Rhodes, and Peter had entered from without looking back. Before she made it too far, Pepper Potts showed up in all her glory, holding a large fluffy towel.

“It’s okay,” Steve’s enhanced hearing picked up Pepper’s hushed voice as she wrapped the towel around the distressed engineer, “Everyone’s safe, Tony. Peter’s okay, you’re okay.”

Tony doesn’t even slow down as she continues her trek back into the rest of the building away from the pool, not even to acknowledge the light kiss Pepper places on her temple. Tony just allows the trusted woman to lightly guide her towards the elevator with a quiet promise to follow her up in a moment.

“JARVIS, please get a hot shower ready for Tony,” Pepper said softly as she watched the genius disappear behind the closing elevator doors.

“Certainly, Ms. Potts,” JARVIS replied dutifully. Pepper sighs and takes a few steps towards the pool, minding the water both Tony and Clint left slicking the pavement.

“Unfortunately, you will have to continue your team bonding exercise without Miss Stark. Feel free to stay and drink, eat, or whatever you please.” The woman said before turning and quickly following after Tony.

“Where mommy go?” Peter asked, looking up at his uncle sadly.

“Mommy’s gonna take a shower and rest a bit,” The Colonel explained gently, setting the boy down to allow him to float in the water, “How about you and I swim for a bit and then join her later?”

“No,” Peter squirmed around, kicking his little legs under the water, “Wan’ mommy!”

“Let’s give mommy some time, bud,” Rhodes calmly encouraged.

“Wan’ mommy, P’ease!!! Unca’ Whodey!” Peter cried out, flailing to grab onto the man.

Rhodes sighed and picked the boy up, holding him tightly against his chest.

“Alright, squirt,” He said, wading to exit the pool, “Let’s get you a bath, and then we’ll go see mommy.”

“Is Tony going to be okay?” Steve asked, his concern only growing.

“Yeah, what made her walk out on us? She even left the kid behind,” Clint asked incredulously.

Natasha replied by splashing the archer with a wave of water. The Colonel ignored Clint as he exited the pool and pulled off the water wings from Peter’s arms. Rhodes wrapped the boy in a fluffy blanket and held him close to his chest before turning to the Captain.

“Tony’ll be fine. She just needs some space,” was all Rhodes said before leaving the pool room with Peter. Upon hearing the soft sound of the elevator doors closing behind them, Steve looks over to the rest of the team with a confused look still etched on his face.

“Is- Did we- I don’t—” Bruce stammered as he rose from where he was previously seated, walking towards the pool with his eyes stuck towards where Rhodey and Peter had just disappeared.

“I was hoping we’d avoid it, but I was almost sure it was going to happen,” Natasha said almost wistfully.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Natasha looked around at them all staring at her, waiting for an explanation. She rolled her eyes at their cluelessness.

“You guys heard about Afghanistan, what did you expect?”

“What does Afghanistan have to do with a pool in Manhattan?” Clint asked.

“She was tortured into compliance, moron,” Natasha bit out as she began to float on her back, looking up at the sky through the glass walls.

“The physical exam she went through after she was rescued showed signs of water inhalation. It’s suspected that she might have been forced underwater or was even waterboarded.”

“Suspected?” Bruce asked with a look of horror on his face.

“She hasn’t said much at all about what they did to her there, just what they asked of her. Stark isn’t one to talk about what she’s been through. She plays it close to the vest so as to not let any weakness slip.” Natasha explained as if it were the simplest explanation.

“Then why—” Steve asked. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Since coming out of ice, Steve had talked to a few professionals about shell shock and learned the new terminology surrounding it. PTSD, they called it now. Either way, as a leader, Steve was almost ashamed in himself for not seeing it in Tony. He saw a woman dealing with a lot on her plate. He knew she’d been captured and gotten out, but he didn’t dwell much on the fact that she’d spent months in an Afghan cave. He was a captain, damn it. He’s supposed to take care of his team.

“Why what?” Natasha asked, with an arched brow.

“Why’d you—” Steve shook his head, “Your assessment of her…”

“PTSD doesn’t make any of it any less true, I just omitted any justification for her behavior during my time watching her,” Natasha replied smoothly, never ceasing her peaceful floating.

“Why?” Bruce asked incredulously.

“Because she shouldn’t be in this line of work. She’s been through enough, and she had a toddler to take care of. I knew she didn’t want it, I was trying to keep her and Peter out of it.”

The men were shocked silent, only the sound of water rippling could be heard until Natasha spoke once again, “JARVIS, can we get the water temp down a few notches now that Tony’s not here?”

“Certainly, Agent Romanoff,” The AI replied, the water cooling down around them. It made sense now, why Tony wanted the water so warm. She wanted to do anything to not be reminded of that cave.

⋆⋆☆⋆⋆

Pepper walked out after setting a steaming mug of tea on the nightstand. Tony sat on her large bed wrapped in a bathrobe, her long wet hair tied up in a messy bun. The warm shower helped and JARVIS was showing her the live video feed of Rhodey giving Peter a bath, soothing the genius to see her baby safe and sound. Tony smiled sadly as Peter demanded to be taken out of the bath and to his mother. She knew her son was too perceptive of his own good, knowing his mommy was upset and wanting to be with her. With a sigh, she dismissed the video feed and pulled on sweatpants and an MIT shirt that still swamped her figure even years later.

“JARVIS, get ready to play Peter Pan for us, would you, pal?” Tony asked.

“Of course, madame,” JARVIS replied, his voice fond.

Just then, there’s a soft knock on her door. Tony padded over to the door, opening it to smile at the sight of her son wrapped in a hooded towel resembling a duckling.

“Mommy,” Peter whined before reaching out towards his mother. Tony scooped the boy in her arms and held him close.

“Hey, bug,” She soothed as she began rocking the boy back and forth.

“Here’s his clean clothes, he wouldn’t let me dress him. He just wanted you,” Rhodey said, walking to her bed and setting a small stack of folded clothes with a bottle of baby lotion on top.

“That’s fine, I got him from here. Thanks, Sugarbear,” Tony smiled.

“Are you sure? I can stay, Tony. If you need help with anything, anything at all.”

“Yeah, I think we’re just going to have some quiet time. Watch Peter Pan and snuggle. I might even join him for his nap,” Tony sighed, never stopping the rocking motion as Peter snuggled close to her.

“Okay, that’s good. You two need to rest. But we’re having dinner as a family. No excuses,” The Colonel said sternly, eyeing Tony with all his concern still evident.

“Pizza,” Peter murmured sleepily against his mother’s neck, causing the two adults to chuckle.

“You got it, buddy. Take care of your mommy, I’ll see you two for dinner,” Rhodey said fondly before sparing Tony another look.

“Bye uncle whodey,” Peter sighed sleepily and let his eyes flutter shut.

“See you later, platypus,” Tony smiled, causing her best friend to nod and walk away.

Tony softly shut her door and carried Peter to her bed. She lied the boy down and ran the towel gently across his bare skin and through his damp curls. Tony was surprised that the boy was allowing her to even put him down, to begin with, but she figured she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and proceed cautiously and quickly.

It took her no time at all to lather the boy in baby lotion and stick him in a pull-up that Rhodey so graciously provided. Easily enough, she wrangled her boy into little grey sweatpants and his new favorite War Machine shirt. Tony shook her head with a smile on her face, of course, that’d be the shirt he’d pick out for her son to nap in. Tony then set aside the bottle of lotion and hung the hooded towel to dry on the door of her bathroom before climbing into her bed and cuddling close with her son.

“J, play the movie, with a volume that’s mindful of a sleeping baby,” She said softly. With that, Peter Pan began playing quietly.

“Not a baby,” Peter mumbled from where his face was buried in his mother’s shirt. The boy readjusted and scooted until he was laying chest to chest with Tony, like he was earlier by the pool, his cheek smooshed beside the arc reactor.

“You’re my baby, tesoro,” Tony hummed and began running her fingers through the boy’s still slightly damp curls, “You’ll always be my baby boy.”

Tony was so content she could almost forget entirely that the Avengers were still in the tower, probably wondering why she just up and left their bonding sesh. She could practically ignore the remnants of the anxiety and dread lingering in her chest and stomach. All Tony could feel at that moment was Peter. She could feel his weight on her chest, his breath tickling her skin, his little hand grabbing a handful of her shirt and his hair through her fingers. The billionaire buried her nose in his curls and immersed herself in the moment. Pepper and Rhodey were both in town, and they were going to have dinner like a family. Her family was home and it was warm. Warmer than an Afghan cave and an empty Malibu mansion. And best of all, her baby was right here with her, in their home, safe and sound. And that was more than she could have ever asked for.

#peter parker fanfiction #Tony Stark fanfiction #iron mom #ironmon #iron dad #iron dad fanfiction #irondad fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #iron man fanfiction #Kid!peter parker #avengers team bonding #italian tony stark #precious peter parker #cute peter parker #punyparkerfics

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fsketchart · 5 years

Text

Daminette December - Gaming

Cursing in this one, and insert a very serious fight. Big boy fight.

Update : Almost forgot the @noirdots <<< Kudos to noirdots for being my literal motivation for all of these

Damian knew it was inevitable. He would never be able to avoid it. Marinette and Damian had both long since been engaged, and his family demanded she come around for New year's. His family took a seat at the dining table. There was silence as each Wayne member stared coldly at one another. Marinette took a seat beside Damian with a blank expression. Bruce walked into the room. Alfred followed behind him, carrying a black brief case.

They both took a seat at the table. Each family member kept their hands to themselves, each glaring daggers at eachother. They knew, this could be the end of the Wayne Family

Bruce placed the brief case down and opened it. He cleared his throat and began to speak it a tired, and sad voice.

"Welcome, to the annual winter, Family Game Night™."

Everyone looked down at their hands, refusing to make eye contact with eachother.

"Tonight, we have a list of the banned, and unbanned games. Yatzee, Monopoly, Go Fish, all banned. Tonight, it was agreed that we would be challenging for the title of champion in a game of battle ships," Bruce spoke. He then took a deep breath. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. He pulled out a paper from the brief case. His hands shook.

"However, according to rule 78, the banned games, on the occasion of a new player, are unbanned for that night." Gasps filled the room, and fear filled their eyes.

Bruce took a deep breath continued.

"And as per rule 56, any occasion that banned games are revoked from the ban list, all participants must vote on the existing pool of newly unbanned games." Shouts and protests errupted from the room.

"Do you remember what happened last time?!"

"VETO VETO VETO VETO-"

"This is a sick joke!"

"YOU MONSTER!"

"YOU WERE LIKE A FATHER TO ME-"

Bruce held up his hand. Marinette just looked concerned. She glanced at Damian who looked like he was almost in tears.

Bruce held out cards and pens for everyone. He nodded. Everyone casted their vote from the entire, long long list of banned games.

Eventually, Bruce and Alfred collected and counted the votes. Aflred's eyes went wide with shock as Bruce looked terrified. Everyone tensed up.

"We have a...close win. Monopoly™ got one less vote...than Uno™."

Gasps filled the air. Jason started yelling, while Tim flipped over a chair. Damian started arguing with Dick as Marinette just gave another concerned look. Babs and Cass could be seen asking for a revote. Stephanie was seen cackling in the corner. Alfred could be seen banging his head against the wall.

Bruce just gave a grave look. He dug through the brief case and pulled on gloves. Then, he lifted up a deck of Uno cards in a Ziploc bag. Marinette started thinking that she got more than she bargained for.

Alfred got on gloves as well, and opened the bag and started shuffling. Dick looked away while Damian shielded Marinette's eyes.

"Any rules?" Bruce asked.

Dick raised his hand, "One draw limit."

Jason raised his hand, "Stacking +2 rule."

No one objected.

Damian raised his hand, "7 and 0's rule."

Marinette raised her hand. "Challenge rule."

Everyone gasped, but otherwise were silent. Bruce dished out 7 cards to each person.

(1 draw limit - if you run out of cards to play you only draw once.

Stacking +2 - if someone before you places a +2 you can also place a +2 and make the next person in line draw 4.

7 & 0's rule - If you place a 7, you switch the hand of your deck. If you place a 0, everyone rotates their deck to the direction of the game.

Challenge - If a 4+ color change is placed, you can challenge the person who placed the card. If they fail the challenge, they draw 4. If you fail, you draw 6 instead. If a person adds a 4+ and they already had a card of the same original color in the deck, they lose the challenge. If they added a 4+ color change, and they didn't have the previous color, they win the challenge. Yes I know a lot about Uno, I play Uno religiously. Was any of this relevant to the story? Absolutely not. Sorry.)

Insert a lot of screaming.

Damian : YOU BASTARD

Jason : I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BROTHER-

Dick : GET DUNKED ON

Bruce : yo Dick that +2 was so hip bro-

Alfred : Master Bruce stop-

Bruce : No but I'm hip-

Marinette : Ok boomer.

Dick : OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Jason : SHOT FIRED.

Tim : BOW DOWN FOOLS-

Damian : *agressive chair flip*

Stephanie : *reverse*

Cass : OK HOLD ON-

Babs : *Reverse again*

Cass : Thank you, Babs-

Stephanie : *skip*

Cass : OKAY WHAT THE FU-

Everyone : NOT IN FRONT OF HER!!!

Damian : *already shielding Marinette*

Bruce : *casually drops +4*

Dick : Am I a fucking joke to you?

Damian : *already next to Dick about to deck the halls with him*

Marinette : I'm an adult-

Alfred : Not on my watch you aren't-

Jason : *casually drops a color switch*

Tim : OK WHAT THE HELL JASON THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR YOU UNCULTURED FILTHY SWINE YOU ARE THE DIRT I STEP ON, THE SCUM I CRUSH, THE INSECURITIES I SHOVE INTO DARKNESS-

Marinette : please no

Tim : Look Jason I'm sorry I really am you're my brother and I love you and you're the best and my favorite brother-

Damian : e x c u s e m e b u t w h a t -

Dick : Have you guys heard of updog?

Everyone : Omg everyone has heard of th-

Bruce : What's updog?

Dick : ಥ‿ಥ

Everyone : Dick no-

Dick : Nothing much what's up with you- ಠ∀ಠ

Everyone : *visible distress*

Bruce : *visible confusion*

Marinette : *casually calls out uno during the whole mess*

Everyone to her : ಠ ೧ ಠ

Marinette : ( ◜‿◝ )♡

Marinette ends up winning with Damian only having one more card than she (Tim gave him a plus 2 and he fell behind because if it.)

Sorry, short end gotta study for the PSAT's which they didn't tell us about until today. The PSAT is tmr and the SAT is like 3 school days after that so yipee they never told us I love school so much WHOOP WHOOP.

Also I'll start adding a tag list next prompt or the one after that. Tmr I'm gonna be hella busy and sad so YAYYYY! ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡

#daminette december #daminette #marinette x damian #maridami #maribat #why did i make this #im sorry #it's terrible #end me #yay #tag list coming soon

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

Testing Him To His Limits

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky was just enjoying the sun, until his phone beeped of a message. If only he hadn’t opened it.

word count: 3.6k

warning: nsfw, fingering, language, no metal arm!bucky

note: inspired by this video on youtube! I’m not exactly sure if this is a Modern AU, I still have yet to grip concept on the spectrum lmao. But technically, they are not The Avengers in this. Also, do grills even pop stuff?? Ion no, I never griled lmao. This is a chaotic, messy writing lol.

Despite the guaranteed coverage of the umbrella, Bucky could feel his body fry alive under the scorching heat of the sun. The wavering waves plastered all over his skin as if it was like the surface of a heated desert. Quivering lines danced over his bare chest. Even though his chest was covered by a smeared layer of glistening sweat that twinkled a smile with every churn of his muscle, he didn’t bother to wipe it off. Maybe it was due to the fact that the heat had made it unbearable for him to place a foot on the burning ground (unfortunately for him, he had to find out the pain after scrambling without a sandal on when he wanted to grab a quick sip) or maybe he was just lazy. Bucky opted to believe the other reason.

In the heat (with restricted ability to step off the seat), Bucky couldn’t help but let his mind wander off as it took a leisurely stroll to random thoughts and topics. He questioned why Tony had decided to choose the day it had peaked the temperature of the sun. The week had swum over a steady crest. It was somewhat tolerable to take a walk in the beginning of the week. Now? Now, Bucky was contemplating if he was either nudged out of a plastic bag, straight from the freezer; dunked into the sizzling fryer, or he was the melting ice cream that flew onto the fiery red lava port of a fair near the ocean. It was as if mother nature had been surprised by a wrestling match in her gut.

But, then again, the host had reassured that no one would pass out. Which might’ve been the reason for the heightened concern for the moment where someone who splay against the burning ground. No one had bothered about someone else passing out until Tony had brought it up. However, there was no need to worry as they were blessed to be in the presence of a sophisticated doctor, Bruce Banner. And no, it was not at all reassuring as it literally felt like their feet were being sizzled alive.

The muscles and tendons that cladded around Bucky’s wavering bones were at the end of a merciless stick of heat. It somehow liquified into a puddle of nothing but... meat. Pushing the hideous (and shuddering) visualization to the side, he inquired a question he knew he wouldn’t have an answer to: Why had he been dunked by a bucket of sweat, his soles still bubbling of unbearable bumps that pinched pain from his regrettable decision where he was put at a vulnerable spot... while his friends had been sauntering on the ground? Were the ground not fired enough to melt their foam sandals? Not even their feet, one of his closest friend, Steve Rogers, paced around the pool with only a teasing amount of sweat painted across his forehead. Bucky had to sigh in defeat, though, the man had been consuming cans upon cans. All iced and cold. Oh, how suffocating it felt to sit on the chair.

With only his blue swimming trunks on, he fell into the captivating imagination of him walking over the frying pan to snatch a drink for himself. Bucky could only take a glance at the icebox that poked bobbling heads of aluminium cans of refreshing flavours whenever the lid was opened for him to take a faint glance. The man was sure he had seen a teaser of an iced coffee somewhere. Although, he feared it might’ve been consumed by a somewhat... hyperactive friend. Hands tucked behind his head, Bucky’s fingers were engulfed in the sticky liquid. It weaved as irritating strings that wouldn’t fly off with every swat of his hand. Bucky’s hands were accustomed to the beads of sweat exasperating out of his skin while the air was sizzling. Not much different from pouring oil onto a pan that was ready to exert its anger on.

Chattering from randomly wheeled through topics which had been on a range from an accidental shift of work hours to high school crushes, it was followed by strings of laughter. The noise trickled into the ears of the only man who had found himself in peace without any interaction. Was peace even the right word? Not too long ago he wished he would jump into the pool for a quick cool off (after a few minutes of adapting to the scorching medium, he was sure the water would be just warm- not burning), but then he remembered he had no energy and will to do so. Bucky wished someone pushed him into the pool without having his skin graze over the hellfire-like ground. Another surge of roaring laughter erupted from the small crowd. It was most likely Tony cracking one of those past eggs before the attention had been directed to the man whose face was smeared over with crimson red paint. It was Steve.

Although Bucky had been pulled into some conversations, most of them had ended quite abruptly. One of them had been from the forgotten grill that had been sizzling, popping chunks of burnt meat into the covered lid. At least Thor had the decency to shut it. Or else it would’ve resulted in parkour of avoiding the bouncing hot pieces from the erupting volcano. Despite the chatting had been so quick, he forgot what they were even talking about. He blamed it on the weather, and the scorching temperature, which caused his thoughts to be evaporated into the unbearable heat.

Bucky tried his hardest to enjoy the session of the invisible breeze of wind in the hot air (there was only a teasing amount of appearances from the natural cooling method). Well, he was trying his best to see the silver lining of the situation. After all, it was he who had dragged his girl to go to the gathering. There was nothing worse than having to admit your fault when you had been so determined and persistent on pursuing a belief. Oh, the last thing Bucky would do was give that satisfactory to Y/N; even though, she could practically see through his tears.

Freshly peeled can of soda swirled into his nose, the scent of a too concentrated solution of grape rammed the wall of his lungs. It clashed into the delicately layered muscles, no different to that of poison. Less than a centilitre of poison would be enough to yank the soul of the victim before they could even comprehend it was their last day. To see the same effects, one would have to drink around half a dozen of the sodas that had been hovering in front of the resting (would it be called resting if he was dying inside?).

Despite the obvious taste of chemicals that would linger on ones’ tongue for the whole day even though they had been scrubbing the bristles of their toothbrush on the flap of muscle with immense force, the brand had still insisted on the ‘No artificials’ plastered on their metal cans. The enormous label that was the size of the can’s name was plastered at the top in bright yellow, the outline had been bubbly with a faint shadow that had exposed the grainy pixels. What a way to catch attention.

His eyelids fluttered open as jumping droplets of the soda pierced onto his face. No different to that of popcorns springing out from the machine. Standing beside the chair was Sam, who offered the drink to Bucky. Despite Bucky squinting through his nearly closed eyelids, he could tell that Sam was not at all affected by said-weather.

There Bucky was, having a courtroom debate in his head to the burning temperature, while his friend had been at the merciful end. There were evaporating beads of sweat that trickled down the sides of his face, nothing a swipe from his hand cannot remove. Even though Bucky was sauntering down the lane of jealousy, he was tugged onto a screeching halt in realization. A can that had been freshly plucked out from the icebox was in Sam’s hand. Then, all that glittered in the resting man’s eyes were sparkles of gold as if he had seen his guardian angel who had flown down to save him. His saviour. Wings would look good on Sam.

After mumbling thanks under his breath that came out more of a raspy noise of cheese being grated; he grabbed the can, Sam made a place on the neighbouring chair that was vacant for anyone to use, “Man, Steve’s like a six-year-old who's banned from sugar.” Even though Sam’s eyes were behind the shadowy glasses, Bucky could guess the expression he wore. Bucky chuckled at the sight of his blond friend chugging cans after cans as if it was a competition.

There was no doubt that Steve was in such a state because he had somehow slipped one sip down his throat, which was his first mistake. A mistake that would usually be meticulously watched over by Steve’s other half, Peggy. The woman was the friend in the friend group who sent health benefits of herbs and other green things (unfortunately, not Shrek) to the group chat at two in the morning. Which only left questions and speculations to linger in the air to what she was even doing awake at such times. Maybe it was when Tony had chided for Peggy to let loose of the rope she twirled around the man. Peggy had been persistent that she was loose. So, one thing led to another; the man was now on his third can. Peggy had to watch with her eyes twitching at the hyperactive man. His bloodstreams probably had enough sugar to coat the walls of his blood vessels.

“He’s gonna be a handful for Peggy. Nothing she can’t handle.” The two chuckled at Bucky’s words. It was true, Peggy barely had problem with... taming Steve. They were like a perfect piece of a puzzle, their sides of the parts completed one another. The last time a situation was like so, Steve had been enticed by a sugary pink stick that Tony had lying around, sprawled on his kitchen counter. Once again, one thing led to another, and Steve somehow ended up pounding on his chest as if a gorilla on a table.

Sam hummed, muscles dancing against the ticklish bumps on the chair, “He’s on a leash, I tell you.” Eyes shut tight, Sam practically melted into the seat. Maybe it was from the heat, but as Bucky brushed his eyes over the relaxing figure, he knew Sam found solace in the air. The chilly liquid crawled down his throat.

The silence from the chilling man had only answered to his suspicion that Sam was in fact, fast asleep. The corners of his lips curled up at the sight of the man who was infamous for never finding the time to relax. Sam associated himself with parties; when the man’s mindset had set onto the things that needed to be done on his desk, it was difficult to stir him away from the focus. Bucky recalled the time he had stumbled on Sam who had splayed out on his office floor since the man had pushed himself to complete the batch of work. He still remembered the worry he had at the sight. The only evidence that the man was not dead but just slumbering was the presence of his pulse thrumming.

Shifting his body back to his previous state, Bucky could feel the prickling of kisses from the sun on his hairs. Although he was enjoying the dream of returning back home, all his work completed, waiting for him on the desk, whoever watched over him disliked the idea. The sheets he would have to go through would consume nearly his whole day, if he was unlucky, it would bite off a chunk from his weekend. Oh, no. The weekend was his only method of escape to ignore the existence of work. A vibration echoed from his phone, shaking an earthquake through the glass table. The noise trickled into his ears, shattering the glowing imagination that was too good to be true.

The groaning from the device pierced through the table once again, calling out for its owner, “Hey, Buck, think you could... run a little errand for me?” Before he had the chance to flip the phone to glance at the notification, Bruce stood in front of the burning source of light, shielding Bucky’s blinded eyes. The sneaky ray of light bounced off the umbrella. Bucky quirked an eyebrow, confused to the vague sentence.

“Errand?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What happened to your new secretary?” Bruce let out a sheepish chuckle, fingers scratching the nape of his neck as he replayed the memory which he now wished he could forget.

“Yeah, about that, I accidentally gave her a leave...” A chuckle fell off the resting man’s face, Bucky shook his head in disbelief. Oh, Bruce. Always expect the unexpected with the man. There had been countless of times Bruce had a word slip off his tongue, most of them were nice. Too nice. So, it didn’t shock Bucky that the man had somehow allowed his new secretary to take some time off. Never will they forget the time they went to a cafe, and Bruce somehow ended up buying a dozen coffees. The doctor blamed it on the enticing offer, one he couldn’t pass off. But the team knew. They knew the cashier cast a spell on him.

“Sure, what’dya need?”

A hand clasped onto Bruce’s shoulders, causing the man to hiss a wince through the cracks of his teeth, “Why’d you run away like that?” Rising from the back, a shadowy figure soon stood next to Bruce. Thor’s booming voice banged into their ears in surges of boisterous pitches. It was a habit the man had, a little quirk, he did. Thor’s way of talking was screaming; although, he had denied being that loud, “You wanna ask Bucky to do it?”

“Do what?” Bucky stared at the two, eyes darting, lost from the lack of context.

“Yes! I do!” Bruce grumbled back, annoyed that Thor had scurried from the circle he was just in, to follow the man. All Bruce wanted to do was mumble the words in secret, away from the people that might whisper his words to other ears. The two fell into bickering. Bruce was prominently shorter than the towering figure of Thor, a reason to why Bruce’s neck would be needed gentle massages later on.

Bucky grabbed his phone, he leaned back with a huff. If the man wasn’t confused already, he had no clue why his girlfriend who sat on the other side of the pool had texted him. Their eyes met. Bucky didn’t know how to react when he saw her shoot a coquettish smirk into his perplexed eyes. Ardent thumbs pressed the password before he clicked on the messaging app.

Then, his heart dropped out of his ass.

The photo of his girl in fiery red lingerie struck a chord in him. Well, snipped away his connection to reality as he tried to digest the picture. It was mostly indulging in the way her skin filled up the brassiere and the garter. Not to forget the accompanying message. Need your fingers in me, “Right, Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t know how fast it took him to switch off his phone, “Huh?”

Thor let out a loud cackle, no different to that of a cracking thunder that zapped the innocent field. Bruce walked away in defeat, shoulders curled down. Noticing the confusion in Bucky’s eyes, Thor chided, “I said some people don’t even listen to what Bruce say. You proved my point.”

The man didn’t have the chance to say anything since Thor paced away. Then, everything flipped.

“Holy shit!” Tony yelled out, his neck veins so close to the surface, it nearly burst the vessel. Without having to say anything, everyone did their part. “Steve! Stop taking so many tissues! I fucking pay for those as a matter of fact! Y/N, could you grab a roll of tissue paper? It’s in the store!”

Pulling her eyes away from her screen, the device was nearly thrown into the body of water at the abrupt change of events. The chaotic mess of shuffling bodies with sheets of ripped tissue papers in their hands that sprinted left and right pierced into her head. What a day for relaxing. Even though she was confused to the commotion, she didn’t need to ask as her eyes brought upon the answer. The bits of meat that had splattered from its main chunk haphazardly pierced the ground, splattering against the floor as if an uncontrollable firearm. Poor burgers.

The woman nodded, sprinting into the house, inching away from the furious grill to avoid being the canvas for its splashes of paint. With her heart thrumming, her feet stomping the ground echoed through the long hallways of the home. Sticking to shuffle in the middle as the path had been blocked by large decorations of lavish vases that sat at her waists’ height, she made sure nothing had been damaged. Y/N was pulled to a screech at the door that resided at the end of the hallway. Practically bursting into the room, she didn’t waste time to nudge everything off the shelves that wasn’t what she needed. The name of the object chanted in her head, echoing as if to remind herself. Everything else was of no use. If her head was a movie theatre and all the seats were take, the audience was probably melting. There was no sight of the needed roll. Her heart sang the last song she would ever hear before it was cut short by the slamming of a door.

“Bucky?” Although she was narrowing her eyes at the figure of the man who leaned on the metal shelves, his eyes amused by her franticness, her attention was averted back to the treasure hunting. Y/N nudged the endless bottles of shampoo aside, not scoring a point of care. She wasn’t sure if it was all for Pepper or Tony. The deep cracks she had meandered through the once organized storeroom didn’t give a sign of the roll. “Not now. I need to find tissues.”

Her words fell on his deaf ears as he persistently rubbed his body into her back. Despite her efforts to shimmy away from him, it seemed the space between the two closed, inching until she could feel a hardness prodding her thigh. A gasp echoed into the air, “You feel that?”

“Bucky! I need to find the tissues.” Y/N managed to breathe out, the words obstructed her throat.

“Then find it,” Bucky’s voice was low, deep as the puffs from his lips caressed her exposed skin. There was barely anything her skimpy bikini could cover. With determination, she continued, ignoring the prominent presence. “Though, I wouldn’t bother. Thor just used a fire extinguisher.”

Even though she wanted to snap her back straight from the news, Bucky’s rigid body blocked her way, “I said find it,” Without warning her, his warm digit nudges her panties aside, dipping into her. A breathy moan trickled into the tranquil air which Y/N tried her best to stifle. There wasn’t any use in pressing her lips together, the way his fingers knew how to rotate her gear had only sent off something in her. Y/N didn’t even dare to cover her mouth with her hand as she knew if she removed the leverage, she would’ve collapsed into the ground. “Sending me photos in public.” Bucky chuckled, not sending the same emotion of amusement to the brutal pace he had pumped his fingers.

He didn’t even bother to tease, pressing his thumb to her sensitive clit, circling roughly. The shelves shake, little bits falling off the surface (thankfully, they were only crumpled up plastic bags). Y/N barely had time to whine about him removing his fingers as she spun around, her lips locking into his, “Bucky...”

The man hummed, his fingers not wasting time to plunge into her, “Wanted my finger. Take it.”

It didn’t take long for Bucky to relish the sight of her head thrown back, chest heaving in surges of breathing. Tongue swirling around the liquid, he hummed at the familiar taste. Y/N had told hold herself back from rolling her eyes.

“What took you so long?” Tony’s eyes darted towards the woman who he had trusted the task of fetching the roll of tissues from the store. The conversation they were having died down, their focus now set onto the exiting figure. Y/N hummed as she practically threw the object onto the wooden table, the legs of the victimized surface quivered. Shivers of the earthquake wavered through the metal rods causing the metal to sing in a falsetto tone as it clashes into its neighbouring accompanies, nearly causing the other occupants of the table to slide off.

“Couldn’t find it.” The words brushed her lips, jumping into the ears of her friends. While she had sauntered off to lay back down on her previous spot, she didn’t notice that everybody’s neck craned to the following body. Fingers weaved through the locks of his hair, Bucky mussed the already messy bundle.

“What?” He couldn’t help himself. The corners of his lips curled up in satisfaction that they had seen the marking he had left on Y/N. Too caught up in the bliss moment, she hadn’t even realized he had left a piece of himself on her neck. The owner of the house threw the utensil on the floor with a huff. Reminder: Don’t invite Bucky and Y/N over.

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fidothefinch · 5 years

Text

Whumptober, Day 9: Shackled

Warnings: threat of drowning, threat of hypothermia

I’m sorry I don’t know where this came from

~xXx~

Two Face took a step back to admire his work.

Damian grit his teeth and yanked at the shackles linking his wrists to the bridge struts. Water already lapped up over the lip of the concrete base Damian was chained to, and although his Robin boots were waterproof, he was left with no doubt that it was freezing. “What is this, some kind of test?” he asked.

Two Face smiled on his good side. “Not for you.” He tilted his head to the side. “Batman is in town, right? I’d hate for him to miss this.”

Damian sneered. “Yes. And I will be gone before he arrives.”

Now both sides of Harvey’s face were pulled up. “Oh, I bet you will. I’ve just left a few errands for him to run, first.” He waved to the henchmen behind him without looking. “I’d better be on my way, son. Don’t stay out too late, you’ll catch a cold.”

He winked—or maybe it was just supposed to be a blink—and his little boat pulled away from the bridge and was lost to the fog.

Damian’s breath came out in angry puffs of fog. He maneuvered his hands so he could reach his ear. “Robin to Batman.”

Static.

Damian tried one more time, before concluding the bridge’s infrastructure interfered with the signal. He was on his own.

His fingers were going numb quickly. The shackles were too tight, cutting off circulation. There was no way he would be able to slip them, and as feeling leeched out of his fingers he realized he wouldn’t be picking any locks, either.

It didn’t matter; he was in the middle of a body of water. He counted two more bridge struts to either of his sides, until they disappeared into the thick fog that covered Gotham’s waters each night. From the looks of things, he was left in the middle of the bridge. But he had no clues as to which one; he wouldn’t even know which direction to swim.

He resigned himself to waiting, and it was then that he noticed the water had risen.

His eyes widened, and though he pressed his back to the freezing metal strut, the water still sloshed around his ankles.

His conversation with Two Face clicked into perspective. The tides surrounding Gotham rose and fell rapidly and drastically. High tide was six hours away, but as Robin tested the length of his chain, he concluded he had no more than thirty minutes before the water was over his head.

His heart sped up at the thought.

He set to work immediately, refreshing his attempts to wiggle out of the cuffs. They dug into his skin, even through his gloves, and he gave up when he rolled a vessel in his wrist and sent sparks of pain down his fingers and up his arm. Instead, he turned his attention to the chain, knowing it only took one weak link to escape.

He stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he had no way back to shore.

He thrust his body weight against the chain, grasping it between his hands to protect his wrists. His back popped, and he splashed water (it flooded his boots, now) up to his thighs. But the chain held fast, and Damian knew there was no way the bridge itself would be weak enough to break through.

His cape, lined with a protective thermal layer, floated behind him. Despite this, it was heavy with cold water, a heavy weight on his shoulders. Damian had flipped his hood up to protect his head and face from the frigid air, but he considered the possibility of releasing it to be dragged away with the currents.

Only when the water reached his stomach, he decided. That would be when the heat protection wouldn’t matter anymore.

The water steadily crept higher, tickling his legs, and Damian tried not to think about it as he paced the perimeter of the flooring. His circles got smaller when the water was high enough for the currents to have significant pull; he didn’t want to risk being sucked off the platform. Even if he was attached to the bridge, undertow was a threat he took seriously.

The water reached his hips, and Damian was shocked into standing still. It hurt; it burned. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Realizing nobody but himself could hear, he told himself, “Batman is on his way.”

He was, wasn’t he?

It was a good distraction, imagining what kind of traps Two Face must have set up. Bombs, set to go off around the city? The mayor, tied up in a warehouse under a goon’s watch? A mass exodus from Arkham?

Damian swallowed. He was shivering now. Two Face would have given Batman a choice to make. Robin was clearly one of them. But as the water inched past his navel, Damian began to doubt he was the one chosen. Batman would have been here by now.

Of course Father would have chosen Gotham. He had to protect the greater good; it was right.

Damian felt very small.

The water kissed his lower ribs, and from this angle it looked endless. Damian craned his neck back to seek out the road he knew must be above him. The fog obscured it from view; the bridge strut fading into nothing the higher it went.

“B-Batman,” he called out. His voice seemed small, too, consumed by the endless void surrounding him.

His fingers fumbled with the locking mechanism, but he released his cape and, numbly, watched it drift away. He wondered if it would get washed to shore, if someone would find it and return it to his family.

He wondered if Bruce would put it in a glass case like Jason’s.

The cold stole his breath. The water seemed to press in on both sides of his chest. He had to pant. Damian tried to keep his arms out of the water, but the chain was heavy, and he let them sink and get dragged along with the current, which was stronger now that he was deeper.

He almost missed it, eyes latching onto a stick floating by when a bright light burst, far away. But he caught the movement from the corner of his eye, and he squint at the spot, so he didn’t miss the second flash.

“Bat-t-man! I’m—” something dragged along by the current swept a foot out from beneath him, and his entire body was dunked under the water. His shackles caught him before he was swept off the platform. Damian inhaled and coughed out a mouthful of water before he was able to drag himself back next to the strut.

The water reached his neck.

Damian had to fight the urge to cough to continue shouting. “Batman! Over-r here!”

The light swiveled in his direction. He may have been imagining it, but Damian thought it was getting bigger.

He had to start kicking to keep his chin above water. He strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the river. “Batman! Here!”

Swimming was hard work. His voice lost volume as he focused on gasping through the painful cold.

Gradually, the light got closer. Damian thought he could make out that it was round, like a flashlight.

Gradually, his chain pulled taught.

Damian didn’t realize it until he tried to reflexively raise his arms to protect himself from debris floating past. The hard yank pulled him under again.

He resurfaced with a gasp. He didn’t have enough breath to keep yelling.

He was tired. Without his arms to help, he had to rely on kicking alone to keep himself afloat. His toes didn’t brush the concrete anymore.

The water slithered up to his mouth, and Damian snapped his chin up uncomfortably.

It filled his ears and worked its way forward, a mask of liquid.

Damian strained against the shackles holding him down. Something in his wrist may have popped; he was too numb and terrified to care.

The flashlight was a searchlight attached to a boat.

Water flooded Damian’s vision, and then everything was black.

#fido writes #whumptober #damian wayne #(spoiler alert: part 2 is tomorrow. no mc death in this house i am a coward)#it is exactly midnight cool i'm late again #s/o to preciousthingsareprecious for being a true inspiration for how devastating a whump fic can be. thx dear.#drowning #hypothermia #ambiguous ending #no editing we die like mne

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firebrands · 5 years

Text

Adjacent, Against, Upon

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark; Explicit; Politics AU (Steve is a candidate and Tony is his campaign manager); 10k+ words

also on ao3

The room was silent save for the sound of the news anchor recapping the videoclip they'd just played.

Imperceptibly, Tony's hand clenched into a fist. Natasha sighed and turned back to her laptop, scrolling through tweets mentioning Steve.

"They should be here soon," Bruce said quietly, looking up from his phone. "Next engagement is just the dinner with the veterans tonight."

"Okay," Tony said, his voice calm. His knuckles were white.

"—follow up on the profiles for tomorrow, I want to know who were meeting and what questions they'll be asking," Steve continued to say as he opened the door as Pepper trailed behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" Tony barked, turning to Steve.

Steve looked up from his phone. "What?" Pepper, too, had stopped in her tracks.

"What the fuck—" Tony gestured to the TV, "was that?"

"Tony," Steve said, his tone measured but eyes hard, "let's talk inside my office." Steve had crossed the room and his hand was at the door. "Come on," he beckoned.

Tony stared at him for a few seconds before walking out.

The team, at this point used to these outbursts, dutifully turned back to their respective laptops. Steve shut his eyes and breathed for a few seconds before entering his office and shutting the door.

After a beat, everyone crowded around Clint and Sam. “So what caused it?” Bruce asked. Clint shrugged, eyes never leaving his laptop as he sorted through photos.

“Come on,” Natasha said, reaching out and stilling Clint’s hand from clicking on his mouse.

“Some vet brought it up?” Clint said. “I mean, maybe that was it?”

“I don’t think we should be… you know. Be hypothesizing. Anyway. Steve might hear.” Sam said, eyeing Steve’s closed door. They could all see him through the slits in the blinds; he was pacing while reading one of the papers from on the pile on his desk. Silently, everyone willed him not to pull out his phone and check Twitter.

“The one time I don’t attend an event,” Natasha said, frustrated. Everyone avoided her eyes. “I’m going to talk to Tony,” Natasha said, getting up and heading to the door.

"Hey," Natasha said, as she stepped outside.

"Don't," Tony said, and raised a hand towards her. “Do not.” Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before he tossed his pack to Natasha.

"Media's not even trying to contact me about it," Natasha said after she lit her cigarette. “They’ve just been playing the clip on loop.”

“Figures,” Tony said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Fuck this. Fuck it all to hell, and fuck him,” Tony said as he adjusted his tie. “What a fucking idiotbrained—” Tony stopped when he saw Nat looking up at him, expression calm.

“It’s not that bad,” she said.

“I’ll handle it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get to be pissed off about having to handle it.” Tony fiddled with his tie some more before deciding to take it off. “Also ensure that you never miss an event with media attendees.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Natasha voice had a sharp edge to it.

Tony stuffed his tie into his pocket as he stepped back inside the office and headed towards Steve’s room. Clint was helping Sam choose footage for editing, and Pepper and Bruce were looking through tweets on her laptop.

Tony took a steadying breath before pulling the door open.

Steve looked up from his stack of papers, eyebrow arched. “Hope you’re happy with that display,” he said.

“I could say the same to you.” Tony reached over Steve’s desk for a whiteboard marker and flicked the blinds to Steve’s office shut. “What were you thinking?” Tony didn’t look to see his reaction, instead redrawing a table on Steve’s windows from memory: Key message, supporting pillars. The red ink was bright against the background of the white blinds. “I mean you just. Just, totally, you know, fucked everything and—”

Behind him, Steve sighed. Tony startled as he felt Steve’s hand on his elbow, stopping his scribbling. “I told you from the start that I didn’t want to lie. About anything. And I knew back then that that would cause trouble — and that's what I hired you for, right?" There was a small quirk to Steve lips, and his eyes searched Tony for any form of acceptance.

Tony looked down at Steve's hand, which hadn't left his elbow. Steve, belatedly taking notice, pulled it away quickly.

"Look, Steve. Today was supposed to be easy," Tony said, the metal of the marker clicking against the glass. "We were just supposed to drill down your commitment to addressing the issue of homeless veterans. Everyone supports veterans. This should’ve been a slam dunk for you." Tony pulled down on his cuffs, one of his tells of when he was impatient. "Now... Now no one cares about that. Did you think of that before you answered that question?"

As usual, the media had swarmed around Steve as he left the venue — this time, a high school auditorium they'd rented out to house different stakeholders supporting Steve's advocacy for vets. After delivering his speech and answering some questions, the floor had been opened for the vets to share their own stories, for them to talk about their difficulties settling back into civilian life, and some stories of how the army had just fucked them over.

Bucky had led Steve out of the exit towards the waiting van, a hand held in front of them in vain attempt to keep media away from them.

“Mr. Rogers, can we get a statement? There’s a Twitter account that’s posted numerous photos—“

“No questions please,” Bucky said gruffly, angling his body to better box them out. Steve made eye contact with the reporter, a young man who’d been trailing the campaign and doing everything possible to try and get a scoop over everyone else. Either he’s just an overeager reporter, Tony had told him, or he’s a blogger — either way, steer clear and stick to your talking points.

“Mr. Rogers, is it you in the photo? Can we get a statement on your sexuality?” A phone was shoved in his face, and Steve’s cheeks went red with memory. It was from years ago, fresh out of college at someone’s party—

“Look buddy, I don’t see how that’s any of your business—” Bucky said, turning away from Steve and facing the journalist squarely.

“Isn’t it my business? Is it you, Steve? We deserve to know!” The reporter pressed, his body flush against Bucky’s, a phone trained at Steve’s face, recording his reactions. Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed, a scowl on his face. In a flash, he remembered the stories of the veterans who had been sent home without a dime just because of who they loved.

“Yes it is, Jonah, that’s me.” Steve said. Bucky turned to him, mouth open. Steve had stopped just a few paces from the car and squared his shoulders. The rest of the crowd had stopped with him, vibrating with anticipation for his next words.

“Yes, I’m gay,” he said. There was a beat, and the only sound came from Clint’s camera as he took a photo of the scene, then: The crowd erupted into questions, and Steve frowned for a second before he caught himself, then waved before stepping into the SUV.

“Holy fucking shit,” Steve heard Clint his to Sam as they settled into the back seat. And then, the voice was directed at him: “Holy fucking shit, Steve.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said from the driver’s seat, turning the wheel to pull out of the parking lot. “Everyone shut up.”

Steve was thankful for the silence, his body still wound tight with tension - what had come over him? He sucked in a large breath and looked outside. “What’s up next again, Pepper?”

Pepper turned to him from the passenger’s seat. “Sir, we’re just on the way back to the office. Tony’s likely going to want a debrief about this.”

“Of course,” Steve said. His gaze met Bucky’s in the rearview mirror before Steve closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool window, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

“This isn’t going to do your numbers any favors,” Tony said flatly, scrolling through reports on his phone.

Steve has the courtesy to act chastened as he looked at Tony from where he leaned on his desk. “Wouldn’t this work in our favor though? Make me, you know. Relatable or whatever?”

“Or whatever,” Tony said, doing air quotes and rolling his eyes. “We could’ve had both demographics on your side and now we’ll have one. I don’t see how that works in your favor.”

“Look, Tony, I’m not naive enough to think that my platform will convert the crazy homophobes, but there’s got to be—”

“Steve. It’s my job to figure out the demographics and your messaging and how to spin this right.” Tony doesn’t have to say that Steve’s made his team’s job much harder for it, doesn’t need to say it. “Maybe next time just… run your ideas by the team before you execute. If that’s possible.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed, staring at the table Tony had drawn on his window in an effort to keep himself from staring at Tony, instead.

“Anyway,” Tony said with a jolt, “I’m going to discuss tomorrow’s itinerary with the team. Along with everything else.”

“I’ll join you,” Steve said, straightening up and walking towards the door. He rested his hand on the small of Tony’s back as he led him out of the room. “I should probably say something, right?”

“Like an apology?” Tony laughed, turning to Steve as he pushed the door open. “God forbid you begin that habit now.” Steve huffed, dropping his hand from Tony’s back as he walked away. His hand tingled at the loss of warmth.

“I just want to reassure them that this isn’t that big of a deal,” Steve said. “I mean, it shouldn’t be, not anymore.”

“What do—Oh, Steve, seriously, it’s fine. No one gives a fuck. We can just go straight to our next steps,” Tony said.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “Obviously it’s not fine, and everyone gives a fuck!” Steve snapped.

“You’re making as big a deal as the rest of them,” he said, quieter.

Tony furrowed his brow. “Of course I am. Now they’ve identified a—well. I wouldn’t call it a weakness, but it’s certainly something that’ll draw people away from your platform and policies. I meant—I meant the team is fine. None of us are judging you. Frankly I’m a bit insulted that you’d think they would.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth—”

“That’s what you pay me to do!”

Steve raised his hands, placating. “Sorry. Sorry. I just, I knew this was bound to happen eventually, and I was hoping to do it on my own terms. Certainly not in the parking lot of a high school.” Steve turned away and rubbed his temples. “There should be a bootcamp for this,” he added, smiling ruefully.

“Well, there isn’t. And the team’s fine. Maybe a bit shocked at how quickly you got triggered to just throw it out there, but we’re used to rolling with the punches.” Tony clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, in a gesture meant to be comforting.

“Well. It’s what I pay you for, right?”

Steve’s small campaign team had assembled in their largest meeting room: The Pantry. The still-relatively small room as a snug fit for all of them, as they had crowded around the two square tables and pushed appliances around to make room.

Bruce had dutifully wheeled in a whiteboard for Tony to write on, and everyone had rearranged the seating to face the board. In the corner, Clint was shovelling ramen into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was one chair in the middle of them all that was saved for Steve.

“Hey,” Tony said, twirling a pen in his hands. Steve cleared his throat. “Okay, well—go do,” Tony said, motioning to the space the team had made in front of the whiteboard.

“Hi team,” Steve said, nodding at them. “Today was, in a word, unexpected. But I know we’ll be okay, I know I’ll be okay, because you’ve got my back. We’ve weathered worse before, and I know that a month from now, we’ll all be in City Hall, laughing about the time a reporter pissed me off enough to get me to come out.” A small rumble of laughter rolled throughout the team. Steve smiled. “That’s all, really. Now, on to Tony’s capable hands.”

Tony rolled his eyes and bowed mock-graciously, “Thank you, sir. So main plan is deflect the shit out of this. Reporter comes and asks, ‘Hey Steve, so you’re gay,’ and the answer is ‘So what? It’s 2019, fuck that noise.’ Got it? Good.”

Bruce snorted and noisily opened his notebook. “Copy, boss.”

“Okay so: No media at the dinner tonight,” Tony said uncapping a marker and taking notes on the board. “Tomorrow morning we have?”

Pepper huffed from her perch on the couch Sam was seated on. “Roundtable interview with the Globe.”

Tony’s hand stopped scribbling. “I thought that was on Friday?”

“It’s Thursday today, Tony,” Bruce said.

From the corner, Steve started to laugh. “I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.” Tony scowled at him before turning back to the board. “Okay, whatever, fine, a media roundtable, Bruce—”

“Revise talk points for tomorrow,” Bruce nodded at Tony.

“Prioritize our holding statement, I want it out before the dinner. Nat, anyone hounding you yet?”

“Just a few, most reporters are still covering Pierce’s event. We should expect him to say something about it, too.” Natasha said, eyes on her laptop which was balanced on her lap.

“Yeah, obviously. So, okay. Bruce, get out of here and write. Pep, update him after.” Bruce stood up and stretched before walking out of the pantry.

“Okay, next?” Tony said, turning back to Pepper.

“Then we have lunch with the Governor, and then a forum at the community college. Should be done with the day by five.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, shaking his head. This was going to be a headache and a half. Steve smiled sheepishly at the rest of them, and said, “At least it’s not boring.”

The office always looked eerie at night, the sheer blackness seeming to leak out of the spaces in the blinds. That could be a metaphor, if he wanted it to be. But he doesn’t.

Steve pulled out his keys to unlock the door, but found it open. He made a small sound of displeasure, turning the knob. Must have been Bruce or Tony, they were the ones who usually stayed up the latest, he thinks to himself. Steve pushed the door open and the light from Tony’s office illuminated the floor. Brow furrowed in confusion, he slowly made his way there.

Tony was standing with his back to him, reading on his tablet.

“What are you doing here?” Steve said, hand holding Tony’s door open.

Tony whirled around in surprise and almost dropped his glass. “Fuck!” He yelped, scrambling, then, “I fucking work here???” Tony answered, shrilly. “When did you become a super spy?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders in an attempt to ground the both of them. “I think I left my planner in my office,” he says, by way of explanation.

“Your what.” Tony said.

“My… planner? With my notes? And schedule?” Steve squinted at him, confused.

“A planner,” Tony said. “You—you know you have a phone, right? With like, a calendar synced across the team and with emails and, you know, a virtual notepad for your to-do list, do you even still have a to-do list, isn’t it all just Pepper,” Tony said, laughing a bit. “What the fuck, Steve.”

Steve smiled, rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It sticks more when I write it down,” he said, by way of explanation.

Tony rolled his eyes fondly. “Sure. Okay. Clearly not sticking enough or you’d have remembered the round table interview you’re having later, before you—”

Steve glared at him and Tony stopped, then rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, walked back inside his office to and picked up where he left off.

“Found it,” Steve said, peeking into Tony’s room and waving his planner up triumphantly. “Congratulations, crisis averted,” Tony said from his desk, nodding at Steve.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Are you drinking on the job?” Steve walked into Tony’s room and held up Tony’s bottle of whiskey, and scrunched up his nose as he scrutinized it.

“Technically this is overtime work. I’m not on the clock,” Tony smirked and plucked the bottle from Steve’s hands.

Steve tsked. “Well if that’s the case, pour me one.”

Tony looked up from his laptop, measuring. “It’s late.”

“Technically, it’s early.”

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

Their gazes held, seeing who would back down first. Then, with a small sigh, Tony opened his bottom drawer and pulled out another glass, pouring Steve a drink. “I guess we deserve it.”

Steve took the glass from Tony and nodded in thanks. “Cheers,” Steve said. “To your bad temper and my constant headaches,” Tony said, laughing.

They drank in companionable silence on the couch in Tony’s office until Steve started to feel a pleasant buzz at the base of his skull. He was exhausted. So was Tony, but he always was. How couldn’t he be? It’s not like Steve had made it easy for him.

“How did the dinner go?” Tony asked.

“Fine,” Steve said, before resting his head in his hands.

Tony reached over and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing slowly over the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater. Steve rubbed at his temples uselessly.

Above him, Tony said, “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Steve said, noncommittal. He didn’t want to move, at least for a few more minutes. But Tony got up from the couch and motioned for Steve to do the same.

Steve was confused for a second, but instead of focusing on it, ambled over to Tony’s desk to pour himself another drink. Tony pushed his coffee table out of the way before reaching under the cushions to pull out the bed.

“Why don’t I have one of these?” Steve asked, frowning at the sofabed now unfurled in front of them.

“Because you shouldn’t sleep in your office,” Tony said, matter-of-fact.

Steve hummed in response and sipped his whiskey.

Tony grinned at him and plunked down on the bed, untucking his shirt for maximum comfort. Then, Tony stretched and let out a groan. “That’s the stuff,” he said, before patting the space beside him. “Come on.”

“Huh?”

“Lie down for a bit.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, his brain tripping over itself as it dutifully supplied reasons as to why he absolutely could not rest, at all, maybe ever, for the next month and a half. Also: What? Steve thought, helplessly.

Tony grumbled and waved him down. “Come on,”

Steve looked down at Tony and stopped himself from letting too much fondness deep into his smile. Then, he finished his drink, toed off his shoes, and lay down. Steve sighed as he felt his body settle into the thin cushion of the bed.

“See? It’s nice.” Tony said, eyes closed and lips quirked in the warm smile of victory.

Soon, Steve felt himself falling in and out of sleep, and almost imperceptibly felt the cushion dip as Tony shifted, trying to get comfortable.

Steve turned and opened his eyes to be greeted the faint dusting of pink on Tony’s cheeks, the smell of whiskey wafting over the both of them. He squinted, checking to see if Tony was awake. And then, Tony’s arm was over Steve’s chest, his warm body flush against him.

Steve held his breath and felt something soft and quiet bloom inside him. Ah, fuck. He shifted a bit closer and shut his eyes, willing away responsibility and reveling in the feeling of being touched. “Move your head,” Tony mumbled, then tucked his arm under Steve’s neck.

They continued to move around until they lay down comfortably wrapped around each other. Steve was quiet, afraid of breaking the spell. Friends could do this, get drunk and hug it out after a bad day. This is friendly, he reminded himself. Above him, Tony’s eyes were closed peacefully, and he shifted a bit so his nose was buried in Steve’s hair. Steve turned his head, and realized too late that he was too close—his mouth brushed against Tony’s neck, and in an effort to make it, well, not a kiss, Steve let his lips rest there.

They were quiet. Steve willed his body to remain relaxed as he inhaled Tony’s scent: Smoky, whiskey, and a bit of spice.

They were quiet for a long time, the air conditioning’s quiet hum the only sound in the room.

And then: “Hey, we’re not going to—“ Tony said to Steve’s hair.

“No, nope,” Steve said, his lips brushing against Tony’s neck with every word.

“Right. Okay.” Tony said, adjusting his arm to pat Steve’s shoulder.

“Yup. Fantastic.” Steve said, suddenly stilted and hoping he didn’t sound it.

They lay for a few more minutes before Steve pulled away, struggling against the pull of sleep and the comfort of Tony’s chest.

“It’s late,” he said, sitting up.

“Technically, it’s early,” Tony said, smirking up at him from the bed. His shirt was rumpled, and Steve tore his gaze away from he exposed skin of Tony’s neck. His lips had just been there. Half of him wishes he’d done something. The other half had retreated into a small corner of his brain and was digging a grave for this memory.

“This was nice, though,” Steve said, and meant it.

“Yeah. Let’s do it again some time,” Tony said, sitting up as well.

Steve smiled at him before standing up. “Thanks for the drink. I owe you one.” Why do I keep smiling. Idiot.

Tony scratched his neck, nonchalant. “Yeah, you got a running tab.”

Steve huffed out a laugh before turning away to pick up his planner on Tony’s desk. “You should get some sleep. On a real bed,” he said.

“That an invitation?” Tony grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“For cuddles? Sure.”

“Aw come on, you were supposed to blush at that.”

Steve smiled at Tony again as he walked to the door. “Can’t make it weird anymore, Tones!” He said, sing-song, in an effort to sound like nothing mattered.

Steve was a few steps out of Tony’s door and Tony suddenly pushed his door open. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve stopped and turned to face Tony. “Yeah?”

“We’re okay, right?”

Steve arched his eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Okay, just, you know. Making sure.”

Steve nodded at him, resolute now that there was space between them. “Sometimes people just need some hugs,” he said.

“Yes. Yeah,” Tony said. He nodded to himself. “Okay. Good night.”

Steve waved at him as he walked off. Yes. Yeah. Okay. People just need hugs.

“I thought I told you to get some rest on an actual bed.”

Tony woke up slowly, and Steve could tell the moment he registered Steve standing at the foot of his couch, shaking him awake. Tony made a small sound of reluctance before he brought his wrist to his face to check the time.

Steve sat down on Tony’s coffee table and held up a mug. “Good morning, Tony,” he said.

Tony groaned and sat up. “Why are you here,” he said, voice raspy. Steve nudged Tony’s knee with the mug, and Tony looked down at its contents before taking it. “Thanks,” he added.

“I wanted to go through the talk points Bruce wrote,” Steve said, sipping from his own cup.

“Why?”

“I don’t really agree with—”

Tony held up his finger as he gulped down his coffee. “Okay,” he said, putting down the half empty mug. “Now I’m alive. Again?”

“With how we’re communicating our stance on sustainability,” Steve continued, as if Tony hadn’t interrupted him.

“Okay, what about it?” Tony stood up and walked over to his desk, powering up his laptop.

“I just feel like it’s too conversational? I want to highlight the big facts and processes, things we’ll actually enact,” Steve said, rising from Tony’s coffee table and following Tony.

Tony was scrolling through the Q&A sheet Bruce and Natasha had worked on the night before, with expected questions and bullet-point answers. Steve leaned down and read over Tony’s shoulder.

“While I understand where you’re coming from, we crafted these to make sure you get the soundbites in,” Tony’s voice had taken a mollifying tone that Steve has gotten used to; it’s the tone of deference. Steve hated it and he’d never get used to it.

Tony leaned back on his chair and looked up at Steve, waiting.

“But issues shouldn’t be reduced to soundbites,” Steve said, leaning back on the desk and looking down at Tony. Tony, whose shirt was still untucked and rumpled. Tony, who still managed to look handsome in spite of his chronic lack of sleep.

“Steve,” Tony said, his jaw tightening. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Tony, but I don’t like it.” Steve said. “We should be better than that.”

“It’s an hour before the interview,” Tony replied, already reaching for his phone. Steve glanced outside of Tony’s office: Pepper and Natasha were talking and pointing at something on Natasha’s laptop; Clint and Bucky were looking through photos; Sam was on his phone, video camera resting on his lap. Bruce was probably in the pantry, then.

“So Bruce has an hour.”

Tony didn’t look at Steve.

Everyone had given up on pretending they couldn’t feel the tension come off in waves from Steve’s office. They’d abandoned furtively sneaking glances and were all openly watching Tony gesticulate wildly at Steve.

Steve kept shaking his head. Tony was pacing and looking up at the ceiling while talking, as if pleading with some higher power. Then, Pepper’s phone buzzed with an alarm. Everyone turned to look at her phone, and then at her.

“Okay kids, it’s showtime,” She said, drawing herself up to her full height before she walked up to Steve’s room.

Steve must’ve seen her arrival in the corner of his eye, because he got up from his chair.

“You and I both know you’ll say whatever the hell you want to anyway!” Tony said, his back to Pepper.

Pepper coughed delicately into her fist. Tony’s body went rigid and he turned to her.

“We need to leave now, sir,” she said, smiling at the two of them as if nothing was wrong. Steve nodded at Pepper and picked up his jacket from his chair, adjusting his cuffs before putting it on.

“Do better,” he said to Tony, before shutting the door behind him.

Steve snuck a glance at his watch and turned back to a student who had used the question and answer portion of the event as a soapbox. “In sum, I think there should be an ordinance that requires community colleges to start vermicomposting. What do you think, Mr. Rogers?” she finished, a bit out of breath from speaking for so long.

Steve smiled at her. “Thank you for your question, and for your great input,” He started. “I do think vermicomposting is fascinating,” he added, “But it’ll be difficult to monitor with such a large scale. I do agree though that we need to look into different forms of waste management, particularly on the level of schools.”

In front of him, he saw Pepper whisper to the moderator. Almost time, then. The moderator stood and delivered a short message thanking Steve for his time, thanking the students for listening and participating, and then calling over the student organizers for a photo.

Steve stood in the middle of them all and flashed a wide smile. Beside him, one of the students turned to him and whispered, “Thanks, sir, for coming out yesterday.” Steve ducked his head to hear him better. “You’re really brave. I hope I can be that brave one day,” the boy continued.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. Around him, the students had noticed and formed a small circle.

“Jason,” the boy said. Steve shook his hand and smiled. “Well Jason, thank you, too.”

Steve knew they were talking about him. He hated that there was an invisible wall between him and the team, one born out of necessity and propriety, one that said, you’re our candidate first, and unlikely friend second.

Steve leaned against the side of the door and listened. Bucky watched him from the couch, frowning. They’d just arrived from a friendly breakfast with other candidates in the slate, and for an hour, none of them talked shop. It was nice. And now, Steve had come back to an empty office and he knew, he knew that the team had taken the opportunity to discuss where they were at without him.

“You still have a month,” a vaguely familiar voice—Steve frowned. Nick? They’d invited Nick over to talk. Nick, a retired campaign manager who’d run Steve’s numbers before he even announced his decision to run, and who Tony had tapped to run focus group discussions on Steve’s taglines.

“And a half,” Tony supplied. The rest of the room had gone quiet, as if they’d known they were being eavesdropped on.

“We’ll just need our events to be harder working,” Tony said. “And buy more airtime.”

“Will do,” Natasha answered.

“Anyway, these are still unofficial numbers, right?” Bruce said, sounding hopeful.

Nick snorted. “You’re still down by 5 points.”

“He should be back soon,” Pepper chimed in, and then followed sounds of the team packing up, getting ready to file out.

Steve pushed himself off the wall and stalked back to his office. He wondered how Tony would break the news to him.

(He didn’t.)

Steve woke up to one message on Monday morning, but didn't read it until he was done with his run, had showered, and had a cup of coffee. He’d taken Tony’s advice to heart—advice he’d given after Steve announced his decision to run against the incumbent Mayor Alexander Pierce.

“If you want to make it to the end and keep your sanity intact, keep a routine,” Tony had said, all those months ago. “Shouldn’t be hard, with your background.” So Steve kept at his normal routine: Up at six, ready for work by eight, bed by midnight, at the latest. Well. He’d kept to most of his routine, anyway. No one could sensibly expect him to sleep when he needed to.

Steve was fully dressed when he flicked his phone back to life to pull up the message.

Do not turn on the TV. Meeting at Nick & Nat at 9. I’ll bring bagels.

Steve sighed, put down his phone, and turned on the TV.

Tony and Pepper were in the office when Steve and Bucky arrived. Bucky made a beeline for the pantry, drawn in by the offer of bagels, and generally uninterested in the numbers that would be discussed. All the needed to know was Steve’s schedule, and it riled him up to be up close to the politicking.

Tony and Pepper looked up from Tony’s laptop. “Good morning,” Pepper said, evenly. “I’ll go talk to Bucky about today’s itinerary,” she added, excusing herself.

“Have a seat. And a bagel,” Tony said, shutting his laptop and pouring himself what Steve guessed would be his second coffee of the day. Steve nodded, spreading cream cheese on a bagel, mostly to give himself something to do. He wasn’t really hungry.

“I’m assuming you turned on your TV. Or checked Twitter. Both? Maybe both.”

Steve hummed in response before taking a sizeable bite of the bagel, which was overflowing with cheese.

Tony stared at him for a beat, and then looked away.

Natasha and Nick arrived at nine on the dot. Natasha and Tony sat down beside Steve as Nick connected his laptop to the TV, ready with the survey results that they’d all already seen, anyway.

“So Pierce maintains his lead, and you’re down five points,” Nick skipped the pleasantries and dove right in, as he always did.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were quiet. Tony patted Steve’s thigh, and let his hand rest there. Steve was grateful for the distraction.

Nick sighed, and began breaking down the demographics.

After the meeting with Nick, Tony had stalked out of the room, pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” Steve said, shutting the door to the office behind him.

Tony was scowling at his phone. And then he was scowling at Steve.

Steve shrugged in response.

“You never told me why, you know.” Tony said, apropos of nothing.

“What do you mean?”

“Why you had to say it. Why then,” Tony said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve that had begun to roll down.

Steve stared at his mouth, then noticed himself staring. “Say what?” He asked, dumbly.

“Why you had to come out while everyone was streaming that ambush interview,” Tony said plucking the cigarette out of his mouth after taking a drag.

“I did tell you. I said I didn’t want to lie.”

“Well you didn’t have to fucking answer him, either!” Tony was suddenly all cold fury. Steve felt his stomach tighten, ready for a fight.

“There was a boy, last week, you know.” Steve said, his hands had balled into fists in an effort to calm down. “He thanked me. He thanked me for coming out.”

“Well that’s just lovely,” Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe his one vote will beat out Pierce’s hundreds.”

“Maybe it will,” Steve ground out. “How many times do I need to say that I didn’t want to lie?”

“Well if you didn’t want to lie then you could’ve fucking told me!”

“I didn’t know sexuality was integral to a campaign!” Steve yelled, feeling off balance and defensive.

“It is if that’s what costs the campaign!” Tony said sharply, crushing his cigarette viciously against the ashtray. “For chrissake can’t you just stick to your goddamn talk points,” he finished, voice lower, eyes not meeting Steve’s.

Steve’s inhaled sharply. “I’m not some puppet you can dangle around,” he said. “I’m not paying you to write talk points. I’m paying you to win.”

Tony didn’t really talk to him much, after that. Maybe Steve read too much into it. But his schedule had been filled to the brim and it’s not like he had much time to read into anything, anyway.

It was week before the elections. Steve sent Bucky home after dinner, opting to go over paperwork in his office rather than his desk at home. The rest of the office was dark, and the team had left for a few Saturday night drinks, taking advantage of the unspoken truce of Sunday.

Steve startled at the sudden stop of music that was emanating through the shared wall between his office and Tony’s.

“Hi,” Tony said from Steve’s door, he looked tentative has he held up a bottle and two glasses pinched between his fingers.

Steve sighed. “I am Very Tired,” he said, enunciating his last two words.

Tony let himself into Steve’s office and placed the bottle and two glasses on Steve’s desk. “Hello, Very Tired. I have a bottle of gin and some bad ideas.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at Tony, who had settled into the seat across him. Tony waited for Steve’s permission.

“Let’s see what shit sticks, then,” Steve said, and popped open the bottle. “This… certainly smells dangerous,” he said, the smell of gin and spices filling the room.

Tony huffed out a laugh and visibly relaxed, taking the glass Steve offered him. They drank in silence and Steve continued reading reports and signing papers. Tony left and came back with his laptop, and soon the only sounds between them were the soft taps of Tony typing out emails.

Steve stood up and stretched before refilling his glass and then slumping down on his couch. He knew that he wouldn’t be as productive seated there, it was too comfy—it had no business being that comfy in an office.

“This couch has no business being so comfy in my office,” Steve said, as he held up the first draft of his final campaign speech. He stared at the paper and waited for the letters to stop swimming.

Steve looked up, feeling Tony’s gaze on him. Tony was watching Steve from beneath his lashes, and Steve felt his breath catch. Steve turned back down to his speech quickly, clicking and unclicking his pen.

Sometime during Steve’s brave attempts at reading and Not Looking at Tony, Tony got up from his chair and had reclined on Steve’s couch, drinking as he scrolled on his phone. His knees were bent and his head was pillowed by his arm, keeping his head high enough so he didn’t struggle to sip from his glass.

Without thinking, Steve tapped his lap twice: An invitation that Tony took without missing a beat. Steve smiled and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. Once Tony had settled, Steve found his hand drawn to Tony’s soft hair, stroking it absently as he juggled between reading, and drinking, and refilling his glass, with one hand.

Tony had made small noises of pleasure that lit a fire in Steve’s gut. He prayed that it wouldn’t manifest physically.

A drop of gin fell from his glass and landed squarely on Tony’s cheek. Steve reached down to rub it off just as Tony’s hand raised to do the same—Tony’s delayed reflexes meant that his hand landed squarely on top of Steve’s.

“Sorry,” Steve stammered, moving to pull his hand away. Tony’s hand gripped his, then relaxed as he pushed Steve’s hand to cup his cheek. Tony’s eyes were closed, his lashes thick and dark against his skin. Steve tried to focus on breathing.

Tony’s head turned, his lips ghosting over Steve’s wrist. Steve shuddered, then, suddenly, Tony turned his head away and he let go of Steve’s hand.

Alarm bells were going off his Steve’s brain, and he suddenly wished he wasn’t this many glasses of gin in. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his wrist again. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his anywhere, and Oh my god.

Steve brought his hand back up to Tony’s hair in an attempt to bring things back to how casual they were minutes ago. Except, Tony shifted away and sat up. Steve downed his drink and belatedly noticed that Tony was seated right beside him, their legs touching.

They were quiet.

Tony swirled his glass before drinking. Steve reached out and held Tony’s wrist, not knowing anything other than the fact that his body ached for Tony’s warmth, anywhere, everywhere, now.

Tony looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, and Steve wasn’t imagining it, the space between them was closing—he could see how pink Tony’s lips were, the light dusting of stubble on his cheek. Steve licked his lips and saw Tony’s gaze track the movement.

Steve’s phone rang, and Tony slid away as Steve jumped up to find it.

The alarm signaling midnight continued to ring as Steve turned and watched as Tony left his office, laptop in hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

Steve stepped out of the car and was overwhelmed by a wall of sound: Camera shutters clicking, reporters hounding around him with questions. He flashed a smile and began walking to the polling center as Tony trailed behind him, greeting the media as he went.

Tony placed a hand on the small of Steve’s back, guiding him forward unnecessarily. Still, Steve was thankful for the gesture. He was nervous. They all were.

Steve had sent a message to the team the night before, thanking them for their work. Of course, this was after they’d all received a final report from Nick—Steve’s numbers were better, sure, but not good enough. Steve was sure Tony and the team had spoken about it, without him. All Steve got was the report.

Once inside, Steve turned to the team: it didn’t have to be said that they’d all go together. He nodded at them. “Here we go.”

Tony reached out for a hug. For a moment, everything was silent. Tony turned up to look at Steve and pecked him on the cheek. “For good luck,” he said with a small smile.

“All I have to do is make sure I don’t tick the wrong name on the ballot,” Steve said with a laugh, pulling away to turn to the booth. He let out a small puff of breath and went in.

It felt surreal, seeing his name on the ballot, right beside Pierce’s. After all those months, all the forums, fundraisers, speeches—it had all led up to this. Everything, nothing, and over sooner than he thought it would be; Steve rubbed the space between his eyebrows, overwhelmed.

Tony was next in line, and they stood beside each other as they waited for the rest of the team to vote.

“Did you cry?” Tony whispered in Steve’s ear. Steve let out a small laugh. “Aw, Steve.” Tony said. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, I’m doing an informal study. First timers, they always cry. Even if only a little,” Tony said, smirking up at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Maybe.”

Tony’s smirk relaxed into a small smile. Steve felt Tony’s hand brush against his, then, as if having finally decided, Tony’s laced their fingers together. Steve kept his gaze forward, and smiled when Tony’s hand squeezed his before letting go.

Outside the polling station, the media had gathered neatly around a podium. Steve stepped up with Tony and Natasha flanking him.

“Good morning, everyone.” Steve started. “Today is an important day for our city, and for our nation. Today, we get to make a decision that will affect the next four years. We hope that everyone takes this opportunity to exercise their civic duty, and choose wisely.” Steve nodded at the reporters. “Getting to today hasn’t been easy, but nothing ever good is. Meeting with people, listening to their stories of triumph and hardships, has given me an endless supply of reminders as to why we continue to fight. Now, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I’ve learned to trust in the people, and to trust in them to make the right decision.”

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras before stepping off the podium.

“Remind me again why we needed to hire Bruce?” Tony asked, taking Steve by the elbow as he led them to the car. Steve snorted. “I can talk. Bruce can write.”

Tony shook his head in response, opening the door for Steve before climbing in after him.

Any plans tonight?

Well I was going to punch a bag until I passed out from exhaustion unless you have something better in mind

Want to watch the numbers come in

Not really Wait is that really what you were gonna do tonight

I mean it’s my job

That sounds horrible I’ll bring snacks

Tony’s apartment was modern, sleek, and neat.

“How did you find time to clean?” Steve asked as he looked around the room with barely concealed awe.

Tony shrugged in response as he shoved a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home,” Tony said. Steve turned his head as he read the spines of the books on Tony’s shelves.

“I’m making myself a drink. Do you want one?” A beat. “Of course you want one, what am I saying.” Steve had never seen Tony this underdressed, just wearing an old tank top and sweatpants. Steve watched the muscles in Tony’s arm flex as he mixed their drinks, then let his eyes trail down Tony’s back and—Steve tore his eyes away and went back to looking through Tony’s extensive library.

The polls had closed over two hours ago, and all anyone could do was wait for the results to come in. Everyone had gone home, exhausted from all the on-ground efforts.

Tony had his laptop mirrored on the TV, a slow trickle of numbers coming in. Steve continued to work his way around Tony’s apartment, thankful for the distraction. He felt keyed up and tense, not knowing what to do with the nervous energy thrumming through his veins.

“Does it always feel this way?” Steve asked, as he took a glass from Tony.

“On tenterhooks, every time,” Tony said, sliding open the balcony door and stepping out. Steve followed, and raised Tony’s pack of cigarettes in silent question.

Tony looked confused for a moment, then nodded. Steve placed the cigarette between his lips and leaned over to Tony, who had clicked a lighter to life. Tony motioned to the chair and sat.

Steve sat beside him, their thighs pressed against each other. They were quiet as they sipped their drinks and smoked. Steve had thought about this, more than once: Just being alone with Tony, after that night, after both of those nights when they held each other and let themselves be held. Steve had turned it over and over in his mind, why he felt so comfortable around someone he’d met only barely a year ago, someone who was working with him (never for, Steve hated the idea of having people work for him like he was above them). Steve kept trying to figure out why someone who yelled at him a fair share—and who he’d yelled back at, too, sometimes—was someone he’d warmed towards rather than backed away from. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Steve had found a friend in Tony. But more than that, Steve found himself noticing the way Tony’s hands moved, the way he’d lick his lips after taking a sip of coffee, the way he’d keep touching everyone so casually. It drove Steve up the wall, trying to figure out if it ever meant anything, after those nights, after that time when their faces were so close Steve could feel Tony’s breath—Steve replayed that memory often. Steve thought about how things would’ve been different if he’d just leaned in a bit faster, or reached out to stop Tony from leaving, maybe finally know what it felt like to have Tony’s lips pressed against his. And then, Steve knew. Knew that he’d have to say something, and soon, because it would all be over soon, maybe (hopefully not), but Steve had to say something or else he’d explode.

Tony placed a hand on Steve’s knee and squeezed, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Steve looked at Tony’s hand, and took a drag off his cigarette, tension beginning to pool in his stomach. Tony smiled at Steve, and Steve felt himself blush.

“Steve,” Tony started, and Steve shrugged off Tony’s hand and stood up, nervous now for different reasons.

“So. Okay, since, you know, we’re done with the campaign,” Steve said, beginning to pace and then stopping himself. “I should be honest.”

“With you,” Steve added, turning to Tony, and then turning away just as quickly. “Because that’s what we always strove for, in this campaign. Honesty. It’s the best policy, if you ask me,” Steve said, taking another drag of his cigarette. He felt a bit wild. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking. He was pointedly not looking at Tony.

“Anyway,” Steve said, willing himself to keep going, or else he’d just never speak again, ever. “Here goes, right,” he added. Steve reached over to the table and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it quickly. Tony reached over and lit a new cigarette as well, uncharacteristically quiet, and Steve was both thankful and horrified in equal measure.

“I may have… lied? About the cuddling being normal, I mean it’s not abnormal it’s just, I wanted to do more than cuddle, that one time, actually no, both times, I wanted to kiss you—I want to kiss you, a lot, all over your beautiful damn face, okay, and, there, I. Yeah.” Steve let out a long breath. “See, that’s why we needed to hire Bruce,” he said, and even to his own ears, his laugh sounded panicked.

There was ash on Tony’s pant leg, meaning Tony hadn’t moved his hand, and Tony was staring at him. Steve touched the back of his neck, scratched a bit at the skin there, not really knowing what to do with his hands. Tony stood up from the bench and walked up to Steve, placing his hands on Steve’s arms, grounding him.

“You always have to beat me to it, don’t you,” Tony said quietly, as if more to himself than to Steve. Steve breathed. Tony looked up at him, a small smile on his lips. “Well are you going to kiss me or what, Rogers?”

Steve smiled so hard it was as if his face would break. Then he bent down and pressed his lips gently against Tony’s.

Tony nipped at his bottom lip and Steve felt his brain short circuit at the touch, then kiss got messy, their mouths barely separating and only for them to gasp in breaths before kissing again, greedy with want.

Steve ran his hands down the length of Tony’s back as Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling them together closer. Tony let out a small, needy noise and Steve shuddered, needing more, needing absolutely everything.

Tony began moving them backwards into his apartment, dragging Steve expertly through his living room, their kiss breaking only briefly when Steve bumped into Tony’s coffee table.

Steve let out a low growl of frustration, and then hoisted Tony up against his hips.

“Oh Jesus,” Tony moaned, bending down to kiss Steve hungrily. Steve could feel Tony’s hardness pressing against his stomach, and a short burst of arousal zipped around his body as he walked towards Tony’s room.

They fell on Tony’s bed and laughed at how the sudden shift pushed the air out of them. Then Tony pushed Steve down onto the bed and began kissing down his neck, letting out a soft string of confessions and obscenities. “I can’t fucking believe,” Tony mumbled as he began unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. Steve’s hands were on Tony’s waist, and he ground up against Tony, desperate for friction.

Steve trailed his hand up Tony’s torso, stopping to pinch a nipple. Tony moaned into Steve’s chest, where he’d been trailing kisses as he unbuttoned Steve’s shirt. Steve pushed him away gently and tugged at Tony’s shirt, his cock straining even harder against his jeans now that Tony was shirtless. “Fuck,” Steve said reverently.

Tony smiled down at him and unfastened the last button, hands skating across Steve’s bare stomach. Steve sat up and kissed Tony again, his hands against Tony’s chest then moving out to grip his arms, then down to Tony’s hips, pushing Tony’s ass down. Tony’s hands moved to Steve’s fly, and he pulled away.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

Steve suddenly registered how Tony looked, eyes wide, lips pink from being kissed, perfectly coiffed hair now askew. Steve did that. He wanted to do more. Steve nodded enthusiastically, not trusting his voice from cracking.

Tony pulled Steve’s jeans and boxer briefs off before taking the opportunity to shuck off his sweats. Steve licked his lips as he surveyed Tony’s naked form, and then realized Tony was doing the same. Steve felt himself blush at the attention, before he leaned over and pulled Tony back on top of him, kissing him again, and again, and again, his skin on fire in every point of contact.

Steve flipped Tony onto his back easily. “I’m going to suck you off now,” he said, with probably more resolve than necessary. “I’m in heaven, aren’t I,” Tony groaned. Steve licked a small bead of precum off the top of Tony’s cock, reveling at the taste. Then, he took all of Tony’s cock in his mouth in one swift go, which elicited a strangled moan from Tony as he dragged his mouth back up and let Tony’s cock fall out of his mouth with a soft pop. “Now you are,” Steve said, grinning up at Tony, who had pushed himself up and was watching Steve, a look of wonder spread plainly on his face. Steve bent back down and continued to lick and suck Tony’s cock, his own arousal making him grind against the bed, fireworks going off in his brain when Tony reached down and tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling and pushing along with Steve’s rhythm. “Please, please, please,” Tony moaned.

After a few moments, Tony pushed at Steve’s shoulder: “Mhn,” Tony said, eloquently. “Stop or I’m gonna—“ Steve wrapped his hand around the base of Tony’s cock and kissed the head sweetly. “Oh god, Steve, Steve,” Tony blathered, his hand moving from Steve’s shoulder and to the base of Steve’s skull. “Steve, please,” Tony moaned.

“Can I fuck you?” Steve asked, his hand rubbing up and down Tony’s thigh.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been asking for?” Tony hissed, falling back onto the bed in frustration, then Tony turned away to dig through his drawer.

Steve huffed out a small laugh, and kissed Tony’s hand when he was handed a small bottle of lube. Steve coaxed Tony’s knees up and kissed down his thigh as he spread some lube on his fingers.

Steve pressed his finger gently against Tony’s hole, and Tony groaned at the touch. “Come on,” he pleaded.

Steve kissed the inside of Tony’s thigh as he pushed his finger in, curling it slowly. “That okay?” He murmured into Tony’s skin. Tony’s reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, impatient: “More.” Steve pushed another finger in and licked a stripe of spit up Tony’s cock. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” Tony moaned, “more, please, faster.”

Steve began to suck Tony’s cock as he slowly slid another finger in, continuing to work Tony open. Tony buried his hands in Steve’s hair again, Steve’s hand on Tony’s hip stopping him from completely fucking Steve’s mouth.

“Fuck me.” Tony’s voice was barely above a whisper. Steve stuttered up, his body tight with arousal. “Please, Steve,” Tony added, his hand cupping Steve’s jaw, fingers soft against the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve crawled up against Tony, pressing kisses along his chest. Steve spent a few moments to kiss and bite Tony’s nipple, only for Tony to let out an impatient huff of breath, drawing a leg up and around Steve to pull him closer.

Steve bent down and kissed Tony, smiling down at him as he pushed his cock in. They moaned at the same time, Steve screwing his eyes shut. Tony felt perfect. This was perfect. Steve continued to ease himself in, and Tony’s hands alternated between clawing at the sheets and raking fingers down his back, chanting Steve’s name all along.

“You feel so fucking good,” Steve ground out, fully inside Tony now, stopping his movements to let Tony adjust. “Fuuuuuuuck,” Tony mewled, his hands pawing uselessly at Steve’s chest, his fingernails leaving red lines in their wake.

Then Steve started fucking him in earnest, hot and wild and pressing open mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach Tony. Tony raised his hand to touch Steve’s cheek, and Steve turned his head and sucked in two of Tony’s fingers in his mouth, desire pooling heavy in his belly. He reached between them and gripped Tony’s cock, and Tony let out a choked sound: “Steve, fuck, I’m—I’m going to.” Tony came on Steve’s hand, coating their stomachs with his cum.

Steve eased back, but Tony gripped his hips quickly. “Keep going,” he said, smiling up at Steve, completely blissed out. Steve continued to move, and then Tony reached up and tweaked Steve’s nipple and Steve saw stars.

He collapsed beside Tony, breathing hard. Tony reached over and rubbed Steve’s chest. Steve picked up Tony’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” Tony said, laughing a little. “I knew you’d be a sap. But not this much of a sap.”

Steve shrugged, continuing to dot Tony’s hand with little kisses, eventually moving up to his wrist, then forearm. “Can’t help it.”

Tony hummed in response, then eventually got up. He came back with a wet towel and rubbed them down, Steve still lying limp on the bed. “That really happened,” he said, brain to mouth filter completely gone. “Yeah,” Tony said, smiling at him, sharing the disbelief. Steve leaned up to kiss him.

Then, outside, both their phones started to ring. They startled out of their kiss and ran outside, both of them picking up their phones.

“Nick?”

“Are you seeing the numbers?” Nick asked levelly. Meanwhile, Steve could hear the high-pitched screeching emanating from Tony’s phone. Steve and Tony turned to the laptop, and Tony watched as he refreshed the screen, and then refreshed it again.

“Oh my god,” they said, finally making sense of the numbers displayed on the screen.

Steve stood in front of the media, silently going through the talk points Bruce had rushed last night. Behind him, he could feel Tony shifting from foot to foot, mirroring the frazzled energy coursing it’s way through Steve’s body.

“Good morning, everyone,” he started. “Today we celebrate successful elections, the indicator of people’s choice in the democratic process. This win is not and will never be solely mine; today, we stand here with the people’s trust and expectations on our shoulders, and we will remain eternally grateful for this opportunity to serve.”

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras, then moved down to begin shaking hands with the reporters, many of whom he’d eventually become friends with.

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve nodded at the reporter who had essentially outed him to the world. “John,” Steve said offering his hand. John, the reporter, took it gratefully. Behind him, Steve noticed Tony making a face.

“It was only polite,” Steve said to Tony, after extricating himself from small talk with the reporter.

“And I’m proud of you, as your campaign manager. As your friend, I’ve harbored some less than charitable thoughts,” Tony answered, picking a bit of lint off Steve’s jacket.

Steve smiled at Tony, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. “That’s okay. I’m charitable enough for the both of us,” Steve said, giving Tony’s hand a squeeze before letting go.

“That’s debatable,” Tony said promptly. Steve snorted in response, and then stopped when Tony’s words had sunk in.

“As my friend?” He asked.

Tony looked up at him from his phone. “What?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Tony Stark,” he said, unconsciously jutting his chin out, readying for an argument. “I would like to be more than your friend, eventually. Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head, confused and a little peeved. “Tonight is your celebratory dinner with the team and funders,” he said.

“Tomorrow, then.” Steve said, not giving an inch.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh, “no, tomorrow you’ve got—” Steve let out a puff of breath and pulled Tony close, pressing his lips against Tony’s and then quickly pulling away.

“Steve,” Tony growled low. Around them, the room was silent.

Steve smiled serenely down at Tony. “I think as my chief of staff you’ll find some way to prioritize my personal time.”

Tony’s jaw clicked shut, then he let out a burst of laughter. “Congratulations to you too, Steve,” Tony said, projecting his voice to ensure that everyone in the room could hear. “I’ve always loved how affectionate you are,” he added, clapping his hand against Steve’s back in a move designed to look Strictly Friendly. He pulled Steve into a half hug and whispered, “I’m going to make you pay for this.” Tony’s breath against Steve’s ear sent a spike of electricity down Steve’s spine.

“Pretty sure I’m just asking you to do exactly what I pay you for,” Steve whispered back, and pulled away, starting small talk with the media as if nothing had happened. He didn’t want to make Tony’s job any harder than he’d already had. At least for now.

Besides, he had a date to plan.

#steve rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #stevetony #stony #stony fanfiction #stevetony fanfiction #i realized i never put this up fully on tumblr ANYWAY here hi hahasdfjsh #things i write

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