#mcu extremis

[thunderboltssasterisk]

Thermodynamic Equilibrium - I

Title: Thermodynamic Equilibrium

Pairing: U.S. Agent! John Walker x Extremis! Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+

Word Count: 15.3k+

Warnings: smut, talks of medical abuse and human experimentation, discussion of ethical concerns regarding working for government agencies no matter how legit they seem, violence, violence against animals, animal death/murder (it’s a snake), suicidal ideation, survivor's guilt, discussion of child abuse, insecurities, and addiction, not-quite infidelity but John hasn’t signed the papers yet (out of pride) so it would be legally complicated for sure

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Smut Prep: (not a hugely obvious dynamic in this part but overall) sub! John Walker/domme! Reader, AFAB reader (no Y/N), first time/getting together, praise kink, handjob, fingering, p-in-v penetration, mention/discussion of pegging

Important Note: this fic will NOT contain any Olivia bashing. That woman made the best, most logical choice for the wellbeing of her home and her son. I’ve seen a lotta John fics demonize her and that’s actually crazy to me fr like they’re divorcing anyway???? I like her idk sue me 

Ao3 Link: here

Summary: set between TFATWS and Thunderbolts* this will be part 1 of a John Walker/Reader series where you are a survivor of the Extremis Project (from IM3) who worked for Tony and now, post-blip, for Val. The next few parts will be set during Thunderbolts* and then continue into the 14 months between Thunderbolts* and the Fantastic 4 arrival.

The tunnels were poorly ventilated. You had, for the most part, stopped being surprised by things like that, but occasionally the poor conditions of the places you raided on Valentina’s behalf left even you appalled. It was a classified underground facility in Nevada this time - though not Area 51, much to your chagrin - located several hundred miles West into the Mojave desert. It was a facility that OXE had taken a special interest in, after a particularly nasty spat between Val and her recently-unskrulled ex-husband, and it was your job to infiltrate the vault-like fortress in the pursuit of information it may have housed on “any potential future-threats.” 

Basically, you were there to spite the CIA. 

The thought made you itchy, irritation prickling your forever-feverish skin as you pondered just how little your actual life meant to Valentina. This whole mission was pointless, anyway, in your not-so-humble opinion. Valentina was already director of the CIA, the problem was that her ex-husband wouldn’t allow her access to any of the medical trial results without proper logging. Valentina couldn’t stand it. If you were being honest, you didn’t blame Agent Ross for being such a stickler - last time the government had been allowed to run around unchecked, they had been infiltrated by Nazis. But Valentina needed to prove a point, so she was sending you off to die. So long as you died in a way that left the older woman able to collect your body, you doubted she would even notice you were gone. You tried - and failed - not to let that bother you. Tony Stark hadn’t been the most openly-jovial employer the world had ever known, sure, but the missions you had been tasked with running for Iron Man had, at least, made sense. They had been helpful. Good. You had been doing good under Iron Man, but you doubted more and more every mission whether or not you were doing good under the Contessa de Fontaine. 

You missed Tony. 

Well, maybe you didn’t miss Tony, nor even really the Iron Man, but you missed the freedom you’d had working for him. The remorse he felt every time he’d seen you had driven his generosity, you knew, but you hadn’t been about to protest a competitive salary and fully-funded living accommodations. All you’d had to do was work for him. Keep the Extremis serum active inside of you for a few more years to help Tony clean up the last of his loose ends, and he would keep you well-compensated and, when the time came, he would help reverse the effects of AIM’s experiments on you, like he’d done for Pepper Potts. At the time, it had seemed like an exceptional deal. You should have realized it was too good to be true. 

Tony Stark, as it turned out, had had a lifetime’s worth of loose ends for you to tie up. Enemies with enemies with enemies, all of them somehow smarter and more harrowing than the last, and all of them with some sort of vendetta against Tony and fetish for human experimentation. You’d freed so many lab rats. People like you, who had gone, struggling, around the world looking for cures to their ailments, or for something to ease their pain. So many labs, so many warehouses. So many bodies. You had done a great deal of particularly heinous things in your pursuit to destroy the people like AIM and Aldrich Killian. Things you regretted, at times, when thoughts of your past plagued you unrelentingly. But they had been for a greater good, done in an attempt to earn back your own freedom. 

Then Tony had gone and died. 

Surely there had been more to it than that, but it’s not like anybody had bothered to sit you down and tell you anything about your employer’s demise. He’d died a hero, everyone knew, saving half the universe from the tyrant of tyrants. Nobody save for the former Avengers actually knew what the fuck that meant, though. It infuriated you, at times, the secrecy that now seemed into every crevice of your life. 

You had no time to dwell on that in Nevada. 

The facility, though poorly ventilated, was well-lit despite being so many miles underground, and you found yourself struggling more than usual to stay hidden in the too-wide halls. You had never been outstanding at stealth missions, you could admit. You were too anxious for them, far preferring a traditional smash-and-grab to the asinine recon plan Valentina had armed you with. But, Valentina now paid your bills, and if she was paying, she was saying. 

The plan, though terrible, was simple enough. You had already completed the first phase of it, making your way down into the facility alongside supply crates in the back of an armoured truck. You’d managed to hide amongst the crates until someone had come in to unload, where you’d knocked them unconscious and taken their uniform and ID badge. Sneaking around the place had gone smoothly thus far, but the constant nerves were beginning to get to you as you crept around looking for the R&D level, your internal temperature beginning to rise even further at the stress. That had always been a problem. Well, not always, but since being subjected to the Extremis Project, your internal temperature had run rampant, a spectrum running from ‘a touch too hot’ to ‘too hot to touch’, depending on what was going on. You were lucky, though. Tony had managed to stabilize the Extremis formula - eradicated it entirely in Pepper, even - so there was very little risk of you turning into an accidental I.E.D. anymore.  

You tried taking comfort in this as you finally managed to locate level 7, the basement of the underground building and the research-and-development floor for the base. This had been your target. Valentina had assured you that the floor was cleared out for the next two hours - something about a maintenance issue taking out the cameras on the floor and the higher-ups not wanting to risk giving opportunity to any whistle-blowers - so it caught you entirely off guard when you slipped into the room to find someone waiting there for you. 

John Walker. 

Irritation spiked your temperature again, an orange haze certainly visible glowing beneath your cheekbones as you stared on in annoyance. Typical. It was so fucking typical of Valentina to double up her odds without informing her gambling tokens, sending them out blindly and damn-near directionless in order to see who came back successful every time. So far, it had always been you, but, it seemed, it had also been Walker. 

“What are you doing here?” the former Captain America sneered when he saw you, annoyance plain on his face. You scoffed. 

“I’m at work, dumbass,” you spat back at him. You had been paired up blindly a time or two before, and worked in a group of three with him exactly once in the past. You hadn’t particularly enjoyed any of those ops. You doubted John had either. 

John rolled his eyes at your petty response, filling in the gaps for himself when you didn’t bother to elaborate further. He wasn’t a dumbass. Despite what you had called him, you knew he wasn’t actually a dumbass. He was actually quite smart, or, at the very least, insanely strategically-minded. An exceptional soldier. A piss-poor spy. 

“How the hell did you even get in here?” you demanded, and it was John’s turn to scoff and withhold a proper answer. Instead, he just turned his back back to you, attention returning to the stainless steel tables covered in equipment. 

It was a large room the two of you occupied, with rows of experimental setups lining the place and a great deal of troubling-looking beakers and vials filling the shelves. It made you uneasy. This room reminded you too much of the labs AIM had housed you in, once upon a time. An impending sense of doom began to creep up on you, your anxiety spiking as the room began to feel smaller, as though it were shrinking around you. You knew it wasn’t. It was all in your head, but it was distracting you nonetheless. Making you sloppy. 

“Why are you just standing there?” John’s annoyed voice cut through your panic, though you rolled your eyes at him rather than acknowledge the unintended aid. 

“I’m locking in,” you mumbled the lie as you shook your head. Focusing back on the task at hand, you started scanning the room for a computer set up. You located one at the back of the room and b-lined for it as Walker started pulling out physical files from the cabinets and drawers. 

Walker, at least, had the courtesy to ignore you. He looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes, deep and purple like a bruise, and his posture, while technically perfect, held less tension than the last time you’d seen him. Like he was deflating. Too tired for your nonsense. There was less fire behind his eyes now. It worried you, in that vague sort of way it would worry you to see anybody falling apart at half speed. You went back to ignoring him in order to focus on the computer. 

Before AIM and Extremis, you’d been a hacker. Not a label you loved, granted, but certainly one that applied. You’d always been skilled with systems and code, always had a knack for finding back doors and shortcuts where you weren’t supposed to. Your mission training - your combat training - had come later, after the serum took. After your spine healed. Valentina had made a point of using you for both skillsets, much to your chagrin, but you supposed you couldn’t blame her. 

Stupid to only use half an asset. 

The CIA’s systems were almost concerningly easy to get into, but you weren’t about to complain. You made swift progress, downloading files onto a usb drive within minutes as Walker continued to root around the room for manila file folders and loose paperwork, both of you determined to collect more information than the other in a silent standoff. 

God you wanted to win. 

Despite your dislike of the woman, you wanted to be the one to return to Valentina with the better haul. Be the better agent. Walker was undeniably the perfect soldier, but you were by far the better spy. You wanted to prove it. Your hatred of stealth missions aside, you, at least, hadn’t worn literal Stars and Stripes to invade an American base, and you were certain you could download more than he could carry. 

You’re not sure what triggered the alarm. 

It could have been you. Certainly, it could have been you, though you found it unlikely. A loud, piercing siren had started blaring over unseen speakers, the lights in the room flashing a deep red in warning. You didn’t know why. You were a lot of things, but sloppy in a system wasn’t one of them. John hadn’t been doing much that could have alerted anybody to your presence, though, or so you’d thought. Turning around to face the former Captain America, your blood ran cold when you saw him holding the door of a now-open safe. It could have been either of you, in the end, but you didn’t have time to analyze. 

Realistically, if you were captured, you probably wouldn’t be killed on sight. No - if the CIA got you alive, they would keep you alive as a bargaining chip against Val. While it was unlikely that she would negotiate for either you or Walker alone, the pair of you together would undoubtedly increase your odds of being rescued. Your odds of getting out unscathed, however, were exceptionally grim. 

“Walker,” you called out worriedly, “Walker, man, we gotta go!” 

John was two steps ahead of you, halfway marched across the room by the time you’d finished speaking. He dragged one of the lab tables over in front of the door, barricading it temporarily as you scanned for another way out. You had to think fast. You knew that you’d only have minutes, if that, before the CIA managed to break through that door and take you both hostage. The walls were solid stone, same with the floor, but there was a huge ventilation shaft coming down from the ceiling. You bolted towards it. 

“What are you doing?!” John demanded frantically, voice full of an uncharacteristic panic.

“I’m getting us out of here! Come here and give me a boost,” you explained over the noise, and John, reluctantly, rushed to join you. “I’ll pull you up after.” 

“Will you actually?” John asked incredulously. “Or are you gonna bail on me like a coward? You don’t even have anything to open it with!” 

“Oh my god, dude, I don’t have time to explain it! You’re just gonna have to trust me, holy fuck,” you spat, “now give me a boost so we don’t fucking die, Walker!” 

John hesitated for half a second before complying, kneeling down and presenting his shield for you to step on. He lunged upwards when you did, sending you careening towards the vent. You dug your fingers into the steel, heat like molten fire pouring out in concentrated waves. In seconds, your fingers had sunk through the metal, allowing you to grip and pull and send the offending vent flying. The alarm was still screaming at you and Walker, footsteps audible as they approached from the left hallway. Moving quickly, you willed the heat in your hands to dissipate as you hoisted yourself up into the vent, grateful that they were big enough to hide a person. 

“That bitch!” you heard John yell as you disappeared into the metal hideaway, and your stomach churned at the way he sounded. Scared. Angry, too, for sure, but mostly John Walker sounded scared as he raged a floor below you. 

It only took you half a second longer to turn around and lower the upper half of your body back out the opening, but that was long enough for John to have backed up to take a running start at it. Without thinking, you held your arms out wide, catching the super soldier with a yelp, your feet digging desperately into metal to keep you from falling back out onto the floor below. Your feet began to heat, the bottoms of your shoes melting slightly to help stick to the steel, but you had him. 

You had him. 

He seemed just as shocked to be caught as you had been to catch him, if the look on John’s face was anything to go by. You didn’t have time to explain yourself, instead grunting with exertion as you hoisted yourself and Walker back up into the vents. You had to get moving. 

“Come on,” you urged and started forward without a backwards glance. The alarms sounded louder in there, somehow, and the sound was getting to you more and more each passing second. It was jarring. You’d always hated loud noises. 

The vents were only wide enough for one, forcing you and John to move single-file down the metal shafts. You had a vague idea where you were going, but something told you that phrasing it like that to John may actually make the man’s head explode. You could have laughed at the irony. The two of you moved silently for several minutes, both of you doing your best to ignore the blaring alarm and claustrophobic tightness of your current setting. 

You both froze when you heard footsteps beneath you. At least a dozen men passed below, judging by the sound, moving quickly and only slightly out of sync with one another in their urgency to find their target. To find you. Terror gripped your heart, panic seizing your bones as you did your best to will the heat away. You were failing. A faint glow began to emit not from the grid places in the vent below, but from you. Orange in colour instead of the harsh red, the Extremis serum was betraying your anxiety as openly as a tattoo on your forehead reading COWARD. 

John’s fingers curled around your ankle. 

A harsh gasp ripped its way out of your throat at your surprise, the instinct to kick John in the face a hard one to overcome. The glow grew then, heat radiating off of you as you did your best to prepare for whatever it is the super soldier was about to do to you. Something to increase his own odds of survival, you were sure. 

“Relax,” John’s voice was as quiet as it could be, but firm. An order. “Come on, Lava Lamp, you gotta take a breath.” 

You tried not to feel annoyed at the nickname or the commands as surprise added to the suspense rattling around inside your bones. Instead, you focused on John’s words themselves. Relax. Take a breath. You could do that. You could do both of those things. Squeezing your eyes shut, you did your best to ignore the chaos around you, focusing instead on the feeling of John’s hand against your skin. 

You were surprised it had remained there. You weren’t stupid, nor were you in any way blissfully unaware of how unpleasant you were to touch, even through John’s gloves. Your skin burned more often than not, uncomfortable at least and lethal at worst for those around you. It had been so, so long since you’d felt anybody’s hand but your own. 

When you opened your eyes, the glow had faded, your natural skin colour returning in the low visibility. You still felt warm - burning where John touched you - but John didn’t flinch. You glanced back at him, croaking out a weak; “don’t call me Lava Lamp.” 

You knew immediately that the nickname would stick. John’s face had split into a Cheshire Cat-like grin at your words, causing you to roll your eyes. You wanted to keep moving but selfishly - humiliatingly - you didn’t want to move away from the hand on your ankle just yet. It was nice. Nicer than most things you’d endured since Killian found you. There was still a mission, though, so you shook yourself of the foolishness and kept moving. 

Eventually, you and John came to a point in the ductwork that veered upwards as it connected to the floor above. Level 6. Turning your head to face John, you relayed your plan as effectively as you could with the sirens blaring still. 

“This vent has to lead outside,” you explained, “eventually, at least, but I have to go first. I’ll melt hand and foot holes as I go. Wait a few minutes, then follow me up. It’ll be like the world’s worst rock climbing.” 

If John was amused by your attempt to lighten the mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, the blond man nodded once sharply and watched, silent, as you began your ascent. It hurt. Using the Extremis serum always hurt, and the overstimulation was making everything worse. But, you, slowly but surely, managed to drag yourself up the vent shaft, leaving behind adequate hand-holds for John to use after. It took you several minutes to climb all the way to the next horizontal section of ducts, but you were grateful for the reprieve. You only had to wait another 5 minutes or so for your unwilling companion to join you. 

“You didn’t leave?” 

You tried not to feel offended at the accusation behind his words, but it was likely written on your face, with the way John shot you an unimpressed look. Of course he would have expected you to bail. People didn’t work for Valentina if they had a reliable team to work with instead. 

“Come on, Walker.” you replied instead, and you and John continued silently through the vents for the next hour. You repeated your solo ascents up the vents when needed, five more times before coming to the final vertical shaft. 

There was sand everywhere. It was seeping into places you hadn’t imagined possible, pervading so many feet down the metal hall that it seemed to be a fantasy at the end of the tunnel rather than your final escape to freedom. The sand had piled in an incline, making it an awkward crouch as you attempted to get into position. 

“Can you give me a boost again?” you asked, and John huffed. The alarm was still going, the screaming of the sirens fainter now but still suffocating in their relentless shrieks. You were getting tired of practically having to shout above them. 

“Can’t you just do your little trick again?” he shot back. Irritation was plain on his face, but nevertheless, John was maneuvering the shield back off his back and shimmying it forward as he spoke. Taking his advice, though, you hoisted yourself up a foot, arms shaking with exertion until John slipped the shield under you. 

John launched you upwards again like he had in the lab, on his knees in the loose sand this time as he did. You were more stable, this time, able to lean against the vent walls as you gripped your escape hatch, where you again pushed your hyper-heated hands through the metal until the grid face gave way and fell to the ground. There was a three foot drop to the ground below, and it was one you happily did in exchange for finally being free of the blaring of the alarms. 

Relief coursed through you as you pulled yourself up out of the sand. You were free. You were quick to stick half your body back inside after scanning the area, and you saw John looking up at you with an unreadable expression when you did. It was somewhere between awestruck and full of loathing, and it made your heart drop into your stomach at the sight. “Come on!” you called down instead of acknowledging the look. 

The man below you struggled momentarily to strap his shield back onto himself before stretching up to reach your outstretched hand. You struggled a tad to hoist the super soldier out of the vent, but you managed it with a grunt. You backed up as you pulled, leaving room for John to fall into the sand the same way you had. He did. It wasn’t until he refused to stand back up that you realized something truly was wrong. John was curled up on the ground, head between his knees as his hands pressed against his ears. 

His ears. 

Understanding slammed into you, guilt and pity swelling in your chest as you remembered reading about the enhancements Walker’d gotten from his bootleg serum, enhanced senses being among them. Enhanced hearing. However bad the alarms and lights had been for you, they’d undeniably been worse for John. 

“Come on, Walker,” you urged gently, empathy bleeding into your voice in spite of yourself. “I know it sucks but we gotta go.” 

For half a second, John looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he picked himself up from the sand and nodded towards what, to you, seemed to be a random direction. “That way,” he muttered, and you followed easily enough. Now was hardly the time to argue. 

You found yourself quietly grateful for John’s presence as you wandered the desert together, the sun setting rapidly and falling behind the mountainous skyline in the hours you’d spent walking. You were good, sure, and hard to kill, but you weren’t a survivalist. You weren’t prepared for anything other than an immediate extraction, but that wasn’t something you could risk with the base on such high alert. Instead, you and Walker were forced to keep moving, to put as much distance between you and the facility as you possibly could before radioing Val for pickup. You didn’t know how long that would take. 

You two had stopped only once since escaping the base. John had crouched down unexpectedly to cut some sort of overly-textured fruit off of a pretty desert plant. More than you would have known to do. Next to you, John seemed even less thrilled about your circumstances than you were, if the look on his face was anything to go by. His eyebrows were knit together in an aggravated sort of concentration, nose red and lips pursed into a tight line. With his arms wrapped around himself the way they were, John Walker looked thoroughly discontent. 

He looked cold. 

That was something you didn’t really get to feel anymore. Cold. It was a foreign concept by that point, the Extremis Project having eradicated your ability to fall below a certain internal body temperature, even if you’d tried. But the serum John had gotten clearly hadn’t done the same to him, and while in any other circumstances you’d’ve been likely to call him a lucky bastard for it, you couldn’t help but feel bad then. 

He looked cold.

You had only worked with John properly a handful of times, but you already knew that if you brought it up to him without a solution, he would get snippy and close off. John Walker was a planner, one that was easily frustrated by a statement of the obvious when it wasn’t immediately followed by a pitch on how to correct it. It made sense, you supposed, given his extensive military training, but it didn’t make him easy to talk to. 

In the end, it wasn’t you that broached the subject. It was John, his teeth gritted in an attempt not to chatter as he spoke; “we have to find somewhere to hunker down.” 

You knew he was right. The desert during the day was scorching, the kind of heat that even you noticed when exposed to it for too long. The light and warmth both faded fast here, though, the quickly-cooling sand doing nothing to hold its heat as the sun fell below the mountains. Dry and unyielding, the sun had been blistering; the moon, however, seemed to radiate nothing but cold as it rose to take its place. 

You scanned the world around you, eyes peeled for any sort of opening in the rocks you two were now surrounded by. It was dark but you were able to make out the opening soon enough, your eyes drawn to a particularly dark shadow along the stone. A cave. The Mojave desert was full of cave systems and you were beyond grateful for the sight of one then. 

“Come on, Walker,” you said, grabbing a hold of his elbow. It was unnecessary, you knew, but Walker didn’t comment on it as you tugged him towards the cave you found. The wind in the Mojave was biting and you needed desperately to get the super soldier out of it. 

Walker followed you wordlessly, feet damn near silent as you moved together in the sand. You two had worked together well thus far, something that surprised you greatly. You weren’t exactly the team-up-type and you figured Walker wasn’t either, after Germany. Maybe he had been at one point - surely he had been, as a captain for the United States - but not anymore. It hadn’t been the worst mission in history, though, so you had to count the wins where you could get them. 

The entrance to the cave was slightly smaller than you had anticipated at first glance, but you were hardly complaining. The cavern in the rock was spacious, as far as wounds in rock face could be concerned. It was big enough to cocoon you and Walker semi-comfortably, about 9 feet tall and 12 feet deep into the stone, but the problem became evident at the width. It was tight, barely wide enough for you and Walker to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, but the relief from the wind was instantaneous for him. 

“Brace yourself,” John muttered shakily, “close your eyes.” 

Your eyes slammed shut instantly, but the sudden light that flooded the dark space you shared burned despite your lowered lids. You shaded your eyes with your hand as you opened them, squinting against the harsh white that illuminated the small space. 

That’s when you heard it. 

The rattle of a rattlesnake was a nigh unmistakable sound, one you hadn’t heard in years - one that filled the cave you and Walker were hiding in. Your eyes shot down immediately where, coiled angrily around the tactical light Walker had thrown on the ground, you saw a Mojave Rattler. It was a beautiful snake, in any other circumstance, but its tail rattled violently, a clear warning of its intent. 

“Don’t move,” you hissed at Walker and the man beside you froze. 

You braced yourself for the snake to lunge, and you met it when it did. Your hand burned where you grabbed the creature, its scales scalding beneath your skin immediately, but you didn’t dwell on the feeling as you hurled it out of the cave. You felt terrible as you watched the snake fly for as far as you could in the darkness, but you knew it didn’t really matter where it landed, anyway. It was dead either way. 

Guilt churned in your stomach painfully, nausea overwhelming you once the adrenaline had passed. You almost didn’t notice Walker reach out for you, but you’d clocked it in time to not be visibly startled when his hand landed on your arm. 

“You good?” John asked, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically soft edge as his thumb began to rub your upper arm. You doubted he’d even realized he was doing it. 

“Yeah,” you lied, “I’m fine. Good call with the light.” 

You glanced around the small cave in the light provided, scanning for any more creatures or critters you may have to handle before you settled in for the night. There wasn’t any. Relief coursed through you properly for the first time all day, the cave acting as a temporary sanctuary for the pair of you in the aftermath of a - frankly - terrible mission. 

With nothing left to do, you slowly sank to the floor of the cave, your body sinking slightly into the sand covering the stone beneath you. You were so fucking tired. Using your abilities was something you’d gotten better at over the years, sure, but that didn’t exactly make them easy for you to use. They were exhausting. Draining. Energy siphoning in a way that made you feel hollow in the aftermath, no matter how many years it’d been. 

John hesitated only a moment before joining you on the ground as best he could. He reached between you to turn the light off then, flooding the crevice with shadows and darkness as he adjusted his limbs so they could slot between yours in the sand. Arguably, you didn’t have to sit so close together, but with your legs touching his the way they suddenly were, you could feel that he’d started shaking. He was so fucking cold. You sighed heavily, chest tightening when John flinched at the sound. 

“We’ll radio out to Valentina tomorrow,” John said before you had a chance to comment, “put a couple hundred clicks between us and the base before we do.” 

You nodded, though you doubted John could see you anymore. Although maybe he could, with his freaky enhanced super senses. You weren’t sure. Regardless, you didn’t much feel like talking anymore, instead dwelling on the mess of a mission you’d just survived, no small amount of guilt weighing down your heart over the fate of the cave snake. You weren’t even really sure why it was bothering you so much, but it was. 

“It was a Mojave Rattlesnake,” John said suddenly, his voice quiet but still startling in the too-small space. “Venomous as hell. I don’t really know why they’re called that, though. They’re found all over southwestern America, and even down into Mexico. They’re, like, barely Mojave. This part of the desert only makes up, like, 12 or 20 perc-”

John had cut himself off. You did your best to ignore the tremor running through his body as confusion overcame you. Why had he shut up? You glanced around again for a threat, your eyes darting to the mouth of your little hideaway, but there was nothing there. Nobody. You debated asking John what was wrong before deciding against it, instead closing your eyes as you attempted to will yourself into some form of sleep. Then, another rattle-like sound filled the cave. 

John’s teeth were chattering. 

The revelation sent an unpleasant feeling dripping down your spine, like molten pity or white-hot shame. You knew John wouldn’t want to talk about it - wouldn’t want you to actually acknowledge what was going on - so you didn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes and began to focus, all of your remaining energy put into your efforts to raise your own temperature on purpose. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know you had begun to glow faintly again, an orange hue filling the space in the rock between you and Walker. You heard him gasp. 

“You’ll warm up soon,” you assured him. You were grateful when he didn’t comment on the strain in your voice. 

You stayed like that for several silent minutes, sweat dripping down your temples at your effort to project heat without malice. Heat with the intent to kill had always been simpler. There was less precision required when it didn’t matter the collateral - less consequences to live with after you were dead. This, though? This was to help. To keep someone else alive. Heat with the purpose to sustain was almost foreign to you, and you were clearly out of practice. 

“How do you do that?”

The question caught you off guard, the faint light and excess heat receding back into you at John’s inquisitive tone. With a bitter laugh, you choked out the explanation of; “barely.” 

It was grim, but it was true. Judging by his silence, John knew it too. He was still cold. Your heat trick had helped, had stopped the chattering of the super soldier’s jaw, but it wasn’t enough to ward off the late Nevada night. While you remained relatively unaffected by the cold, John hadn’t prepared for it. Not enough. Not the way the Extremis Project had forced you to, years prior. He was still in his typical U.S. Agent get-up - a black-and-red inversion of the red-white-and-blue thing Captain America had going on - which you now knew to be uninsulated. You doubted his helmet provided any sort of warmth either, save for possibly around his eyebrows and cheekbones. His gloves and boots were tactile, not cold guards, and his shield was a concave sheet of freezing metal, 

God, you hoped he didn’t freeze to death. 

The thought, while morbid, was entirely possible if the temperature kept dropping. The elements could kill just as harshly as any man-made weapon ever could, and in some cases, it was worse. You didn’t want that for John - nor for yourself, as unlikely as that scenario may have been - so you sat quietly while you wracked your brain for a solution. Only one seemed obvious. 

“Come on,” you said. You were getting sick of saying it. “I know it’s fucking weird, but we gotta get you warm, so-”

“Why?”

The question caught you off guard. The word - a single syllable - felt like a gunshot in the way it ricocheted around your head, its path of carnage immeasurable in the half seconds it took you to react. His voice had been so… resigned. Tired. He’d been asking simply to hear your answer. 

“What the hell do you mean ‘why?’” you spat harshly, and in the darkness you could faintly make out the way John flinched at your tone. “I’m not gonna let you fucking freeze to death, Walker. You’re my teammate for tonight.” 

You debated saying more - debated telling him that you wanted to keep him alive because, despite your discontent at your situation, you didn’t think he was the worst man alive. You didn’t think he was the monster of monsters that a lot of news outlets had painted him out to be, nor did you think you could find it in you to blame him for the way he’d snapped that day overseas. You thought about telling him about how kindly he had treated you in comparison to so many others, even in spite of his harsh tones and coarse exterior. But you didn’t. Shame and unwanted memories bubbled to the surface as you wracked your brain for more to say that, somehow, wouldn’t betray how rapidly you’d grown attached to the broken man before you. 

“I didn’t even get the files.” 

The admission was soft. Quiet. Almost inaudible with the wind rushing past the cave entrance, but you’d heard it nonetheless. Your eyes finally seemed to be adjusting to the overwhelming darkness surrounding you both, leaving some of John’s features visible despite the lack of light. There was a frown on his face, his eyebrows furrowed, and you could see his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to ward off the cold. 

“I got the usb,” you assured quickly, but John’s loud scoff was followed quickly by him slamming his helmeted-head back against the stone wall of the cave he leaned against. 

“But I didn't get the files!” his voice was strained and angry. Fear had begun to creep back up on you; a more immediate kind of terror compared to the bone-deep existential dread you had been navigating since the mission’d started. You didn’t like it when Walker got angry. “I didn’t get the files, I didn’t complete my mission. I let Valentina down and I’m the one that’s going to have to pay for it! Me! So I don’t really give a fuck if you got your part of the job, okay? I still fucking failed at mine.” 

You weren’t entirely sure where the emotional outburst was coming from. Or, you were, he had just explained it - profanity laced as the explanation may have been - but you weren’t sure why this had been the breaking point. Surely the military legend was trained to hold on just a little while longer, no? AIM had trained you to withstand genuine torture tactics their enemies may have thrown at you, surely America had done the same for him. 

“I wasn’t bragging,” you said quietly, “I wouldn't have made it out of the room without you, you wouldn’t have made it out of the vents without me. We’re even, here, Walker. We got whatever they had.” 

The words tasted bitter in your mouth, even as you spoke them freely. Sharing credit had never been your strong suit, much preferring to shoulder your breaks and burdens solo, or choke down any unforeseen consequences the same way. Leaving John alone in this didn’t seem to be an option, then. You could tell that whatever part of this had broken something in John that night, it had shattered it in a way that wasn’t fixable by awkwardly-offered compromise alone. 

Then his teeth started chattering again. 

You couldn’t keep the annoyance out of your heavy sigh if you had tried, prompting an equally-irritated sound from John in response. This was ridiculous. You hadn’t been about to extend an olive branch to an icicle, no matter how agitated you felt in the cramped cave. Moving suddenly, you pulled your base uniform overcoat off to expose the standard issue white tank top underneath, the black sports bra you wore under that standing out as a shadow beneath the top. You pulled yourself away from John then and shifted yourself around until your back was against the sloping back of the cave, head pillowed only by your pulled-back hair. 

“Come here,” you said to him, “you’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t.” 

Still, John hesitated. In the faint light provided by the mood and your body’s natural acclimatization to the dark, you could see a look of deep concern on his face as he stared at your outstretched arms. You couldn’t say you blamed him for his reluctance, but you couldn’t help the repeated heavy sigh nonetheless. 

“John,” you said softly, ignoring the way the blond man’s breathing hitched at the sound of his first name, “I don’t want you to die. I can control it better when I don’t have to project it. Come here.” 

The last part was said less like an offer and more like a demand, but it seemed to be what the super soldier needed. John moved stiffly in the cramped space, sliding his helmet off his head and setting it to the side before turning back to face you. Your nerves, begrudgingly, had started to get the better of you again, and a faint orange glow had begun to light up your skin. This, at least, would begin a more natural temperature spike for you. 

“Are you sure…?” 

John’s hesitation was, in a way, sweet. Boyish. The man before you was radiating nerves in a way he never had around you before, not even the times the two of you had come under fire. He was skittish in the faint light of you, his eyes darting across the nebulaic patterns that swirled beneath your skin instead of meeting your gaze. You adjusted your legs and beckoned him forward. 

“I’m sure, John. Come lay with me.” 

That, at last, seemed to finally shatter his resolve. John crawled to you slowly, as if approaching a caged animal, and he was practically a statue as he laid against you. His head came to rest against your shoulder, his cheek pressed to your collar bone and the rest of him pressed against the rest of you wherever it could. You ignored the way this made the glow brighter. Once he’d settled, you threw your base coat over top of the both of you like a makeshift blanket. It was far too small for John, but it was more than he’d had before. 

John seemed to sag against you after a few minutes. He felt deflated. As if any warmth or will to live had long-since seeped out of him. Idly, you brought your arms down to circle his waist, began to rub what you’d hoped were soothing circles across his back at the same time. John’s nose was cold where it pressed against your skin, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. 

He was crying. 

It took you a few more minutes of stillness to be sure, but the feeling of tears sliding against your neck was undeniable. They were hot, and wet, and beginning to roll down your chest as they kept up their unrelenting flow from John’s eyes. You didn’t dare comment. What would you even say? 

The last time you had tried to comfort someone, you’d been a labrat for AIM. You had been one of the phase two testers - the stage after the death-bed dealers and before the retired combat veterans - and you’d been laying in a cot across from a woman whose name you never got to learn. You were both being housed in a medical warehouse outside of Boston at the time, both semi-recovering addicts looking for something to distract yourself from the withdrawal symptoms. While you would later learn that your testing group had been the one used to engineer the addictive properties of the serum’s next phase, all those years ago you had simply been concerned with staying alive and helping your friend. 

“Do you think it’s gonna hurt?” she had asked, red hair fanning out behind her on the uncomfortable bed. She had looked so young. She had barely been 21, a pretty ginger girl with bright blue eyes and hyper-pigmented freckles smattered across her face. You’d smiled at her before you lied. 

“No,” you’d told her happily, “but I’m going first. I’ll warn you if it does.”

You never did get the chance to tell her. Not about the unbearable heat, or the agony of listening to your own spine fuse itself back together. The cause of all those pain pills and drug runs, knitted back together in an instant, and all it’d cost you was your soul. The other girl had burned the same as you, and all it’d cost her was her life. 

Shoving the horrible memories of your friend out of your head, you did your best to focus back in on the task at hand. Walker was crying. He hadn’t said anything yet, and the tension slowly returning to his body let you know that he had no intentions of letting you hear him sob, either. You could feel it, though. You wonder how long it’d been since Walker’d been held, for him to forget that. 

You willed your body warmer, the glow in the cave brightening and your grip on the man in your arms tightening. His shaking hard returned, though you doubted it was from the cold anymore. This was sadness. This was grief. This was the trembling form of a man on the very brink of implosion, self-collapse imminent in spite of his attempts to hold himself together. 

Your heart broke for him. 

A foolish reaction, you figured, but one you couldn’t help. John Walker, for all his flaws, had been one of the highlights in your field ops, especially since Tony passed. You didn’t like the knowledge that he was miserable. You didn’t like it at all. 

“I’m sorry!” John suddenly gasped, practically choking himself on the words in his effort to get them out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Shhhhh,” you soothed awkwardly, doing your best not to come across as angry or upset. “I’ve got you, John. It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” 

You didn’t know what else to say. Was there anything else to say? You didn’t even know why he was crying, just that the sight and sound of it was chipping away at something inside you steadily. The feel of it. Cradling a collapsing star in your hands, you felt like Atlas, doing his best to hold up the sky without letting out a scream. 

John had started sobbing in earnest then, forcing his face deeper into your neck in an attempt to muffle the sounds. It didn’t matter. You felt the way he shook against you, like a war-torn frame heaving against the weight of his own sadness. There was a storm inside of John Walker, and it seemed like tonight was the night it would finally spill out of him. You kept rubbing his back and shoulders, moving one of your hands up to run your fingers through his hair. 

The sound he made, you knew, was practically a wail, but you also knew that John would rather die than admit it. 

“I’ve got you,” you murmured again, “I’ve got you, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re not a failure, Walker; you saved my ass a few times tonight. It’s okay.” 

You didn’t know if it was actually helping, or if the excitement of the day was finally catching up to John, but you knew that his sobs had started to quiet at your words. They weren’t gone, granted, but they were subsiding. Waning. The sound still tugged at something inside of you, but the relief you were beginning to feel was palpable. You stayed like that with him for awhile, pity and exhaustion at war in your bones about it, but you were hardly about to tell him to ‘suck it up.’

John Walker needed you. 

It was a foreign feeling by then, being needed. Unusual. You couldn’t remember the last time someone needed you. Her, you thought, she needed you. You’d failed her, but maybe you didn’t have to fail him. Maybe you could actually help John. 

“You’re safe,” you whispered, “we’re safe, because of you. You got us through the desert, man. You’re good.” 

“But I’m not!” John’s outburst startled you. He pushed himself up, wet eyes boring into yours with a ferocity you hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m not good. I wreck everything I touch!” 

Your breathing hitched. His face was barely inches from yours, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs. Tears were still streaming down his cheeks, but you didn’t dare comment on that. 

“You didn’t wreck me.” 

Everything froze. Blood rushed to your ears, your heart pounding out of your chest as you stared up at the former Captain America. John didn’t react to your words at first, just watched the way your skin lit up with your nerves. Frustrated and feeling bold, you repeated yourself. 

“You didn’t wreck me,” your voice was firmer this time, “you didn’t wreck me, John. You’re touching me right now, and I’m okay. I’ve been not okay on a lot of missions, I’m okay on this one now. I’m okay here with you.”  

You were rambling. John hadn’t blinked the whole time you were speaking, leaving you unnerved and glowing brighter. It made you talk more than you normally would, made you anxious in a way you’d hadn’t been in years. You felt yourself heat up at the thought. At least John’s warm, you mused, and your lips quirked up into a small smile. 

John’s mouth was on you in an instant. 

You didn’t even have time to gasp when the kiss landed, John had closed the gap so fast that you almost hadn’t realized it was coming. You kissed back, though. The moment you got your bearings about you, you kissed John back fiercely, bringing your hand up to cup his face. 

He tore away from you with a gasp. 

“I’m sorry!” he choked out, “I’m sorry fucking sorry, holy shit, I-”

“Okay-” you cut him off, “well, that’s, like, discouraging as fuck to hear, but. Okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

John rolled his eyes. “You keep saying that!” 

“I keep meaning it, too!” you snapped back. John was back to staring down at you then, and you found yourself quickly getting tired of the feeling of looking up. “It’s fine, Walker. I’m not mad. I, uh… I’m not mad.” 

You’d lost your bravado half way through speaking, your voice trailing off awkwardly. John’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, frustration twisting the rest of his features unpleasantly. 

“What were you gonna say?” John demanded and you would have screamed a thousand screams if it hadn’t been such a risk. You swore your face was going to explode - and that was only half a joke. 

“Oh my god!” you got out, voice clipped and eyes finally moving away from John’s to the cave ceiling. “I kissed you back! Okay? It’s fine! You surprised me, sure, but I wasn’t, like, fighting you off by any means. I kissed you back.” 

You wished closing your eyes would be enough to drown out the light you were throwing as you sat in your own anxiety. This was stupid. You were both being so fucking stupid, really, acting like a kiss in a cave was the end of the world. Like it was something worth discussing. It was the action of lips on lips, a mouth moving against another mouth. There was nothing special, or world-changing, or life-altering, or-

John kissed you again. 

You kissed back instantly this time. You were out of practice but you tried not to let that get to you, instead focusing on the way John’s lips moved against your own. He was a good kisser. As far as you could tell, at least, John was a good kisser; he was steady, the pressure perfect without being forceful, and he hadn’t rushed in with tongue the way your last boyfriend did. Granted, that had been in university, but that was your only point of reference anymore. 

This time when you broke apart, it was for air, and John didn’t seem ready to back out as he panted above you. Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, an impulsive move that had the super soldier’s face heating up beneath your lips. Pulling away gently, John buried his face in your neck, and you smiled. Content with what you’d already gotten, you’d been unprepared for the way John’s mouth had found your throat. 

“Oh!” you’d gasped, face and chest heating up in shock. You felt John tense, but he relaxed once your hand shot up to his hair, your grip on his hip tightening with the other. You liked that. You liked this. All of it. John kept up his path across your throat, dipping down slightly to press a row of kisses across your collarbone. Without overthinking it, you raised the leg of yours that was between John’s, your thigh pressing into the core of him firmly. 

He was hard. 

A sick, addicting kind of heat swelled inside you at the revelation and you both froze. You tried to focus on your erratic heartbeat, but molten want kept you pressed where you were despite the danger. You knew this was a fool’s risk - that your heart rate spiking too radically could result in you going off like a bomb. Tony had assured you, years ago, that that wasn’t likely to happen anymore, but the fear had been plaguing you for almost a decade. 

Then John whimpered. 

It was a small sound. High pitched and needy, he did it again when he shifted against you, his hips grinding down minutely into the cushion of your thigh. You inhaled sharply through your nose and inched your leg up more, tensing to give him something firmer to grind down against. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear him again. 

John didn’t give you the satisfaction right away. Instead, the blond busied his mouth on the other side of your neck, exploring the next expanse of skin like the trained tracker he was. It felt good, laying under the former captain, letting him kiss you however he wanted. You assumed he was enjoying it, too, based on the way he kept trying to get closer to you still. His tears hadn’t stopped entirely, but they were slower now. Calmer. They wet your neck more than anything else John was doing. 

You shifted the hand that was on his hip, running it up his side to cup his ribs. John shivered. You’d never really considered what John would be like in bed - in cave - but if you had, you still wouldn’t have anticipated how reactive he was. It was adorable. It was addicting. You liked how well he responded to you, pushing into your hands wherever they laid across his body, his hips grinding down against you in a steady rhythm. It made you feel powerful. You were drawing these sorts of sounds and shivers out of a super soldier - he was becoming putty in your hands. 

“This still okay?” John’s voice broke the monologue in your head, his words quick but clear. They made you smile. Briefly, you debated teasing him about the question, but you knew that you were dancing across thin ice. One wrong move, and Walker would send you plunging into the cold. 

“Still okay,” you confirmed, “now come kiss me again.”

John complied easily. That's another thing you would have never thought to anticipate; how non-domineering John seemed to be when he felt good. It was cute. Sweet. It made your heart beat almost dangerously fast, the light in the cave growing brighter as you continued to make out. The hand on your hip shifted then, John shifted his weight to rest mostly on his other arm, his left hand moving to slip under your shirt. 

Your stomach clenched at the feel of his bare hand on your bare skin. Feeling bold, you swiped your tongue against John’s bottom lip and had to bite back a smile at how easily he opened up for you. At your enthusiasm, John grew bolder too, his thigh pressing against your core firmly, the hand on your stomach sliding up to your chest. You couldn’t help the small noise that left you, a content little hum at the feeling of the super soldier cupping you through your bra. John inhaled sharply at it, and he nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I wanna touch you,” you said before he had a chance to talk, and John’s pupils blew wide at your words as he stared down at you. He nodded silently, pink tongue dragging across his bottom lip as he gave you his consent. 

You slid the hand on his ribs down to the front of his suit, and you hoped he was also ignoring the way your hands shook and skin lit up. You were so nervous, even as you felt the evidence of how much John liked this pressing against you. You kissed him again to distract yourself from it and worked your hand between you, finally wrapping your too-warm fingers around the bulge in John’s uniform, 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, mouth hanging open for a second at the relief of finally getting proper pressure where he needed it most. “Fuck, pretty girl, keep going.” 

The words sparked something inside of you, sent a wave of desire crashing through your body like a tsunami of want. John’s voice was even deeper than it had been all day, something thick and primal working its way into his tone as he pushed himself against your hand. Idly, you wondered what he was thinking about, but the feeling of John’s hand sliding down to the waistband of your pants distracted you. You didn’t bother waiting for him to ask, you just nodded enthusiastically, pressing your lips against John’s yet again. 

You really liked kissing John. 

You liked even more the way his hand felt as it slipped into your pants, warm and calloused and strong. Your skin was glowing fiercely, your body running hot as you struggled to contain just how excited you were. You were wet, you could feel how slick you had gotten just from making out and you hoped Walker wouldn’t comment on it. You felt him smirk against your neck and, before he could shatter that hope, you squeezed gently around the bulge in your hand again. John moaned. You began to rub him in earnest then, thrilled when he started to grind against your hand while making quiet, content sounds in your ear. 

“Fuck you sound good,” you mumbled mindlessly. John whimpered. The words had slipped out entirely without your permission as you’d gotten lost in the feeling of John surrounding you, something you’d expected him to hate. Clearly, he didn’t. You kept talking. 

“You look good too, you know?” you’d been asking rhetorically, but John nodded like he was afraid to disagree. “You’re so hot. So pretty.” 

John whimpered again. You thought your heart was going to explode in your chest as you fumbled with John’s belt, doing your best to yank it open blind. “I wanna get my hands on you for real.” 

You said it half to turn him on more and half as a warning, giving him ample opportunity to stop you, if he’d wanted to. He didn’t, if the way he bucked his hips into yours was anything to go by. It was awkward in the cramped space, and your back hurt from the rock. You were glowing, and sweating, and shimmieing around in a sandy cave to give a handjob to a super soldier, but you were excited. You wanted this. You were having more fun on the floor of that cave with John than you’d had in years by yourself in a soft bed. 

You didn’t get a good look at John’s cock despite the light you were emitting, the angle of it all making it damn near impossible to see anything other than blue eyes and soft hair. But you could feel it. Hot and heavy in your hands, John was big. Long, and thick, and you could feel the hair at the base of it when you slid your hand down. John’s breathing hitched. 

“Come on,” he urged softly, hips jutting up into your hand. “Come on, Lava Lamp, I need this.” 

You finally did laugh then, a silly, obnoxious giggle pouring out of you as you wrapped your fingers around John properly, stroking as best you could despite your giggling frame. “Don’t fucking call me that,” you said without any fire, “or I’ll rip your dick off.” 

It was John’s turn to laugh then, an easy sound that made you instantly want to hear more. Between your bodies, your forearms were pressed together awkwardly as you rubbed at each other at, possibly, the world’s worst angle. You couldn’t bring yourself to be bothered by it. “I don’t think you mean that,” John teased back. “I think you like it.” 

He emphasized his point by slipping his finger between your folds, the slow drag of it up your center pulling a ragged gasp out of you. He wasn’t wrong. That was kind of the worst part of all of this, in a way. John really was making you feel good, and you had a sinking feeling in your gut like you may never live it down. You clenched around nothing at the thought. 

“I think,” you flicked your thumb across the tip of John’s cock as you spoke, “that you should be a good boy and fuck me.” 

You wondered for half a second if you’d gone too far, or if you’d jumped the shark in regards to being sexy, but the way John shuddered assuaged any worry you felt in an instant. He moaned as he buried his face back in your neck and nodded, his middle finger working its way back between your folds. You held your breath. It had been so long since you’d done anything with anybody, you found yourself craving something more. 

“Come on,” you choked out, “open me up.” 

John obeyed at once, his finger sliding inside you fully now, right up to the third knuckle. It was just one, but the sudden pressure made you hiss between your teeth. “Sorry,” John mumbled softly, and his thumb came up to press circles against your clit. You couldn’t help the moan you let out, loud and obnoxious. It fueled John on, urging him to continue toying with you in the hopes of hearing more. You kissed him again instead. 

Kissing John with his fingers in you was a different kind of intensity, something far more intimate than just lips-on-lips had been. It had been so fucking long since the last time you’d had this. Since you’d had someone. You knew that whatever was happening between you and John was an impulsive, spontaneous thing. It wouldn’t matter when the sun rose, but it mattered to you tonight.

That was the thought that urged you forward, bringing one of your legs up to hook around his hip as you did your best to relax. After another minute or two, you nodded at John to add another finger, which he did easily. You were so wet. You couldn’t really remember the last time you had been this turned on, the last time you were so desperate to have something fill you. It was a fun, albeit vulnerable, feeling, one you’d hoped John was drowning in himself. 

“Another,” you said breathlessly, hand sliding against John’s cock in an easy glide. You had meant to be nicer about it, but John’s cock twitched in your hand at the command still audible in your voice despite the pleasure. 

John obeyed. 

You loved the feeling of him listening to you. It was an easy sort of control, one that felt earned instead of fought for, and it wrapped around you like a cloud of smoke. Permeating, something that hung heavy in the air and clung to your lungs as you gasped in mouthfuls of John. 

It was obvious before too long that you were both ready. Your pussy was dripping, an audible squelching sound making your face burn as John continued to finger fuck you on the floor of a cave. It was so vulgar. So dirty. But it felt good, and weirdly intimate, less like a hookup and more like a beginning. 

You shook yourself. 

That was dangerous thinking, the kind of sap that got you stuck on the tree of life, forever unable to keep climbing towards the top. You had no place for it in your life. It was a waste. A hindrance. A burden you were simply unwilling to bear. 

“Please let me fuck you,” John’s voice was getting higher in pitch. “Please, fuck, gotta feel you.” 

And, really, hadn’t you always been built a bit different? Hadn’t you been designed to bear more than most? The thoughts felt dangerously close to self harm as you allowed them to dance behind your eyes. 

“Fuck me, John. Come on.”

Walker was quick to lift himself off of you then, something that had almost startled a protest out of you before his hands flew to the button on your pants. He fumbled momentarily before he got himself together, lowering your pants until you could get one leg out entirely, allowing for easy maneuvering. Anticipation swirled in your gut. 

John looked at you for assurance one last time. You nodded your head, bringing your hands up to cup his face. “Come on, John.” 

The tip of John’s cock was red and leaking, his cock throbbing visibly where it bobbed between his legs. He lined himself up, giving you one last peck on the mouth before he pushed in slowly. You held your breath, the glow in the cave almost blinding for a moment as John’s pelvis hit yours. 

You needed this. 

You needed this so bad that you didn’t even care about the stream of content sounds pouring out of your mouth, nor the mindless babbling that followed. “So good,” you panted, “oh my god, John, you’re so good. Feels so good. Fuck!” 

Above you, John did his best to suppress a whine. His whole body shuddered at your words, his hips starting their slow grind against yours. His head pressed against your forehead as his eyes closed and you clenched around him, walls squeezing around his cock as his hips began to drive into yours in earnest. Still, he tried not to let you hear the sound trapped in his chest. 

“Say it again,” John begged, “please, Lava Lamp, I gotta hear it.” 

You couldn’t have helped the smile that spread across your face if you’d tried. “Such a good boy,” you said as you grabbed a handful of his hair. “Making me feel so fucking good.” 

And there it was, that pretty little whine he had tried so hard to hide before. John leaned his head back into your hand, letting you pull the fistful of blond hair with just enough force to drag a moan out of the man. John’s own hands found your hips, gripping them with an almost-bruising force to maintain leverage in the cramped space. You didn’t mind. John shifted slightly then, the angle only minutely changed but groundbreaking nonetheless. 

“Oh!” you gasped, “Oh! There! Fuck!” 

You began to press your hips back as best you could, meeting John thrust-for-thrust as need carried you through on instinct. “There?” John asked, and you nodded dumbly. 

“There, John, fuck. Such a good boy. You feel so good inside me.” you knew you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop running your mouth at the feeling, and you wanted to soak up each and every one of John’s reactions to your words. 

He was so responsive. You hadn’t expected it, had instead been expecting some grand display of stoicism from your temporary teammate, even as the heavy petting had started. The tears from earlier seemed to be pooling at the corners of his eyes again, but you didn’t call it out. You just stared into the deep blue of John’s gaze for as long as you could hold it before the pleasure became too much, the inferno inside of you raging against your need from within. 

“This good?” John panted, and your heart clenched at the desperate way he needed validation, even as you soaked his cock with how badly you wanted him. 

“So fucking good,” you panted, “you’re so fucking good, pretty boy. Such a good boy for me.” 

John’s hips stuttered at the petname, losing their rhythm as the words washed over him. Good. He was being good. John preened under your praise, his heartbeat erratic beneath your lips as you mouthed as his pulse point. He was so cute. You kept up with the praise, dropping a gentle “good boy” or “keep going, baby” whenever it felt right, and John kept fucking you like it’d been his mission from the start. 

“Come on, baby,” you guided gently as his hips began to pause too long at your words, “fuck me like a good boy.”

The words activated him like a sleeper agent. 

Walker fucked into you obediently, hips keeping a consistent, addicting pace with an almost militant efficiency. He was good at following orders. You really should have known that - should have realized that the man trained to take lead hadn’t simply gotten there by never being able to follow - but it was still a surprise each time he listened so easily. He was so compliant, allowing you to lead despite his place above you. Not for the first time that night, you wished fiercely that you were anywhere other than a desert cave. 

The stone beneath your back made your whole body ache. Your spine felt warped under the weight of you both, the heat you were throwing was making everything feel sharper than it actually was. Harsher. The heat inside of you felt so good, though. It felt like the Extremis serum, but kinder. It felt like being wanted. It felt like a need so intense you could barely keep yourself from gasping with it as you rocked your body against John’s as best you could. 

John couldn’t keep his hands still anymore. They explored you in earnest, callused fingertips dragging against your sensitive, glowing skin. He slid his hands up your sides, his palms flat and wide as they covered places on you leading up to your ribs. His hands on your tits made you moan despite yourself, pushing your chest up further into grip. Your nipples here hard against his palms, pebbled as if you were trapped in the cold, and practically begging John to do something with them. 

You hadn’t expected his mouth. 

Walker dipped down to get his mouth on your left nipple faster than you could react, an embarrassing whimper tearing its way out of your throat at the sensation. Wet heat encircled the sensitive bud, John’s lips capturing you with a gentle suck. His tongue flicked against the tip of it after a second, making you clench around him tighter. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped out happily, “John, baby, fuck. Making me feel so fucking good.” 

Your head was practically spinning with want as you tugged at John’s hair, your fingers curled into a loose fist that was tightening by the second. Walker took that as his cue to switch sides, but not before blowing cool air against the spit-slick skin of your left nipple, the feeling making you writhe against him. He sucked on your right tit with just as much enthusiasm, his hips fucking into you with enough force to shift your body against the stone beneath you. 

God you hated the stone. 

Idly, in the back of your mind, you wondered what it would be like to do this properly. Maybe in a motel somewhere while you laid low, isolated enough and with a big enough bed for you to spread the super soldier out and toy with him for real. You wanted to hear him whine some more, wanted to see just how far he was willing to go for praise. You wondered if he was into being made to wait, kept on the edge of orgasm for hours while being forced to beg, or maybe the opposite. Maybe the serum in his veins meant he didn’t have a refractory period anymore, and he would lay back all pretty while you spent a night making him cum until he cried - or ran out. Maybe there was nothing more to your encounter in the cave than a moment of weakness and some desperately needed comfort, but maybe there was also just more to John Walker than met the eye. 

You were desperately hoping for the latter.

You were approaching your high far faster than you wanted to. You wanted to savour this, to hold onto the feeling of John Walker compliant in your arms, but you knew it was a losing battle. You felt too good. Your skin was hot, your insides like fire, and you were glowing like nightlight. You were so bright. You didn’t feel like you were going to explode, though; the heat was a pleasant burn, not a charring scorch. Nothing hurt like this, nothing ached or strained or melted away inside of you. Nothing was wrong. For the first time in years, you could almost pretend that nothing was wrong. 

“John,” you tried to warn him, your voice and cunt both tightening. You didn’t need to continue. John’s hips kept their pace, his hand returning to its place between your thighs without your direction. The feeling of his trembling fingers circling your clit made you gasp. Once. 

Twice.

Three times and you were cumming around John’s cock. Hard. you were sure you would have shouted some sort of obscenity if not for John’s mouth on yours, kissing you like his life depended on it as you clenched around him tight. You felt incredible. Waves of liquid fire lapped at your spine, molten desire drowning you where you laid in the sand. Your limbs tensed, your arms crushing John against you as tight as you could without hurting him and your legs wrapped around his hips as they plowed into you in a way that left your body trembling in the aftershocks. 

“I’m close,” John choked out, going to pull himself out of you. You didn’t want that. You wanted to feel John let go inside you, feel the way his body relaxed when he finally let go. Without thinking, you locked your ankles behind his back. 

“Cum for me, pretty boy.” 

John bit into your shoulder as he came, hard enough to break skin and draw blood. It made you whine in overstimulation, but it didn’t make you pull away. It was hot. Being marked. You knew it would heal as soon as John removed his teeth, the Extremis serum doing its best to repair you completely the moment you began to decline in any way. It almost drove you crazy, your inability to see any lasting effects of the battles you’d been through, but you were certainly grateful that you wouldn’t have any marks to hide from Valentina in the morning. 

The feeling of John’s cum painting your walls was almost enough to send you over the edge again, the aftershocks of your last orgasm squeezing everything out of John as you clenched as tight as you could. You felt amazing. John shook against you, his body rigid before relaxing into a pile of flesh and nerves under your careful hands. You were rubbing his back and playing with his hair as you slid your legs down from his hips, your own stretched pelvis screaming at you for the shift. Your back thanked you, though, profusely as you finally eased the tension in the lower half of your body. 

“You were so-”

“That was rea-”

You cut each other off in your attempts to provide awkward reassurance. With the desire cooling in your bodies alongside your blood, you couldn’t help the swell of nerves you felt in the aftermath. This had been such an insanely stupid idea. What were you thinking? You weren’t, clearly, and-

“You were perfect,” you said instead of voicing a single one of the concerns in your head. “That was really fun, Walker.”

You were sure you sounded weird. Like a failed telephone salesman or a nervous third grade teacher, but you couldn’t help it. You had successfully stolen from the CIA hours prior, and somehow this felt like the most dangerous thing you’d done all day. 

“Yeah?” He asked rhetorically, not shifting his head from your shoulder as he maneuvered himself back into his uniform, “I, uh, I think next time, I should eat you out.”

A sudden wave of hunger threatened to overtake you, your pussy screaming at you to take him up on that right then, but the exhaustion radiating from your bones forced you to ignore it. You barely had it in you to pull your pants back on, and you spent that half minute worried that John wouldn’t return to you when you’d laid back down. He did. You pressed your grinning lips against his forehead. 

“Bet,” you replied sleepily, “but only if I get to fuck you, next.”

The last of the water was gone by the time you’d reached a quarter-mile out from the pick-up spot John had set up with Valentina. You had shared it between you wordlessly, tiny sips passed back-and-forth in utter silence. Visibility, and heat, were both an elevating risk in the daytime. 

You pretended that was the reason for the quiet. 

John had been unable to meet your eyes since you’d woken up that morning. He’d moved away from you some time  during your shift asleep, your body so exhausted that you hadn’t even stirred in the process. That wasn’t like you. Usually, you slept lightly, barely allowing your body to ever fall fully into REM sleep, lest something happen while you were unaware. There was also the nightmares. Those were undeniably a factor in your beyond-fucked sleep schedule, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you waking up alone that morning. 

She had visited you, as she often did in your sleep. All fiery red hair and fierce eyes, flames licking across her skin as she screamed about it hurting. About you lying. About death. You hadn’t thought about her this much in years, the topic something you typically couldn’t bear to dwell on much, but she’d been inescapable since your moment of weakness with Walker. You wondered if you had spoken in your sleep. You debated asking John, but you doubted he would answer honestly. You tried not to let that bother you. You also tried not to let the short, clipped way John now spoke to you bother you. 

You were failing at both. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you threw out there at last. John froze momentarily in his spot beside you. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sticky and there’s sand everywhere and it’s just, like, not the fucking vibe, okay? But Jesus, dude, say something.” 

You felt like a fucking high schooler again. Like two 14 year olds refusing to act normal after their first ever game of ‘seven minutes in heaven.’ It was beneath you. Both of you. Ninth grade behaviour, right down to the way you still avoided his eyes while awaiting a response. 

“Crotalus scutulatus,” he finally responded. You did turn to look at him fully, then, your own wide-eyes meeting his panicked blue ones. “It’s the name. Of the snake. From last night. It, uh, it shouldn’t even really be called the Mojave Rattlesnake? This part of the desert makes up, like, less than one-fifth of their habitable area, maybe even less than an eighth.” 

It was the fact he’d tried telling you last night. You almost laughed. This was a field operative? You weren’t stupid, though, and you knew that laughing at John right then would have shattered the surprisingly blissful moment the two of you were sharing in the blistering hot sun. 

“What would you call it, then?” you asked, and John launched into a 10 minute long rant about the classification of desert fauna in the southwestern United States. Again, you almost had to laugh. 

John Walker was such a dork. 

You hadn’t expected him to be such a dork, rambling on about species identification and the differences between a clade and a class. You pretended to be unfamiliar, mostly just enjoying that you had something to focus on that wasn’t the ever-present threat of being shot from afar. John wasn’t even a terrible teacher, really, though he was undoubtedly condescending at times. You were almost enjoying yourself, in spite of it all. 

Almost. 

The whir of Valentina’s jet engines were hardly the loudest in the world, but they were by no means the quietest, either. You just hoped you could get out of the Mojave before the CIA caught up to you, even as you boarded the grey metal flight trap. You’d never been overly fond of flying, but your anxiety on the matter had only skyrocketed in recent years. You were dreading this plane trip. 

If John noticed your hesitation as you loaded in, he didn’t say anything about it. Then again, in all likelihood, he was too busy dealing with his own. Of the two of you, only one of you was returning to Valentina empty-handed, and you were grateful it wasn’t you. You had meant what you’d said the night before in the cave - about sharing credit - but even you knew it would be a flimsy excuse. 

The Contessa de Fontaine was kind of a bitch. 

The plane didn’t hesitate before taking off and your stomach dropped. You hated this. Even with Walker sitting next to you on the plane, you hated it. It reminded you too much of the mission you’d been on when the Blip happened. You hadn’t found out for some time that that’s what it was called, but that’s exactly what had happened to you almost 30 000 feet in the air. 

You had been tasked with keeping tabs on an Italian Contessa, one Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, one of the founders of OXE group and, if the whispers were to be believed, the most recent name on a long list of mad men trying to recreate the super soldier serum responsible for Captain America. You had been getting really fucking tired of people trying to recreate that serum. But, Mr. Stark had promised that this would be your last job, if it could be. Take out OXE at the root, and you would get to live under the shade of a different tree at last. Then you had turned to ash in the second seat of a two-person plane, and had reformed 5 years later, free-falling from the sky. 

It had all felt like an instant. 

To you, it was sudden. It was jarring. It was worse than being lit on fire and more of a shock than being put out. Every sensation you had ever felt had coursed through you all at once as - to you - your plane and co-pilot vanished in a grey haze, leaving you plummeting to your death over top some fuck ass spot of nothing in the Utah desert. 

To you, it was how you’d realized you could fly. 

The panic had overcome you in an instant, a scream unable to even rip its way out of your throat as you fell from the sky. You had been so sure it was the end, your life one huge, meaningless joke, meant only to crumple lifeless in the sand at the end of your days. But heat had overcome you then, a fire unlike anything you’d ever felt before charring you down to your bones before it collapsed, the inferno rushing downwards, the momentum forcing you up. Up, up, up. Until you had far surpassed your original 30 000 feet, the air around you gone frigid despite the waves of fire lapping at your soles. You’d finally managed a scream then. 

From so high above the ground, everything looked soft. Forgiving. If you squeezed your eyes shut, you could have almost convinced yourself that everything would end okay. The fire at your feet cooled, your descent began again, and you felt the air rush around you like an atmospheric tomb. The pressure was immense, the ground growing ever-closer, and you swore your heart was going to explode before either problem became an actual threat. Then your feet caught fire again, and up again you rose. 

It was a cycle from hell, the worst 15 minutes of your entire life as you launched yourself across the elevation points, your body little more than a ragdoll being shaken by a dog-like wind. Each time you would rise a little lower, fall a little farther, and the ground would come a little closer into view. It felt like being choked, like being edged, like being toyed with. It was a hell unlike anything AIM could have put you through when they’d tried. 

But you were flying. 

Around the sixth or seventh time you caught fire, you could recognize your torment for the primitive form of flight it seemed to be. A culmination of heat and momentum, thermodynamics manifest as you hurled towards both sand and stars. It would have been the most exciting, most elating feeling in the entire world if not for the death you were so certain would follow. You were flying, sure, and it was a damn shame that that didn’t mean you’d realized how to land. 

You’d crashed through the roof of a base you were certain hadn’t been there when you started the flight, thick concrete cushioning your fall as best it could as your flames failed you at last. There was too much pain for screaming then, the air forced out of your lungs as heat overcame you from within. Extremis. The serum was repairing your broken body as fast as it had fallen apart, the very fibre of your being stitching itself back together against the molten heat of rebirth. It was agony. It was bliss. 

It was waking up some hours later, strapped to a hospital bed while your blood was being stolen by one Contessa de Fontaine. 

You had been incensed. You had screamed yourself hoarse and raged for hours after that, body thrashing almost as violently as it had in the air. Valentina had had to sedate you, in the end, and twice more after that each time you’d woken up. Eventually, you had been tired enough to listen, and in the end it sealed your fate. Valentina couldn’t let you leave, not with the potential literally burning beneath your skin, so you had a choice; guinea pig or guard dog? 

You’d chosen the leash over a cage. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you barely noticed Walker shifting next to you in his seat. You didn’t care to turn and face him, not then at least. Not with thoughts of ash and arial maladies plaguing you. You didn’t want to have this discussion with him, didn’t want to talk about falling into Hell the way you had or your slow attempt to crawl your way out ever since. John didn’t seem at all deterred by your decision to ignore him, however, as the blond began to speak. 

“It’s a Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey,” he said, informative and confusing at the same time, “I’ve ridden in a few before. Good craft. Some of Boeing’s better work, really.” 

So he had clocked it, then. 

A bitter sigh ripped its way out of you. “I don’t want to hear about the plane, Walker.” 

You had tried to keep your voice even. Calm and collected as you addressed the Captain. You knew it hadn’t come out like that. It had come out strained and weak, breaking twice without your permission. You sounded like a little kid, but you had another 3 hours left by plane before you hit Langley and, worse, Valentina. You just didn’t feel like spending them learning about plane facts. 

“What’s your problem with it, anyway?” the question was asked sincerely, but in a tone that made you want to punch Walker right in the head for asking. “It’s a solid plane.”

You laughed bitterly. “All planes are solid until they’re not,” you shot back haughtily, “all planes are solid until they fucking turn to ash.” 

You didn’t elaborate, and John didn’t ask you to. Briefly, you wondered if he thought you were threatening him, implying you would take down the plane if he didn’t shut up. You couldn’t find it in you ro correct him. Not when it got him to move on from the topic of air travel, instead spending the rest of the flight leaned back and sleeping while you were still awake to watch. 

You landed right at the OXE base about 3 hours later, legs stiff and aching as you were led inside by armed guards. The halls of Valentina’s floor of the building were wide like the Nevada-base’s had been. Hers were stark white linoleum where the base had been concrete, but that imposing effect remained the same. You felt unable to hide. You were overexposed walking into that office, even with Walker at your side. 

“Sit.”

She hadn’t even bothered pretending with the pleasantries. Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine had never been a particularly kind or nurturing woman, but the way she’d been radiating cold and malice then had been unnerving. Suffocating. Valentina had the eyes of a brazen bull; hollow inside save for the screams of the dying working their way out of her mouth in the form of commands. 

You and John both sat without question. 

“Which one of you wants to tell me what the fuck happened out there?” Valentina demanded, and you swore your blood ran cold. Did she know? Did she mean the… whatever it had been last night? Or had she meant the base? The alarms and the escape through the vents? You didn’t know. 

“I failed to get the files,” John said instantly, and your head whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. “I prioritized ensuring the safety of myself and my fellow field operative over retrieving them. No casualties in the base, though. No blood spilled.” 

“N-No blood spilled?” Valentina asked rhetorically, a bitter laugh working its way out of her chest. “‘No blood spilled,’ he says, like that’s some sort of goddamn reassurance. You idiots!” 

You and John both flinched at the outburst. 

“Those alarms weren’t for you, stupid! I told you both the cameras and sensors were out on that floor, what the hell is the matter with you? The alarm was triggered by one of the squints on the human trials floor, not by whatever you two losers were doing in the basement.” Valentina was fuming. Steam practically poured out of the woman’s ears as she ranted for another 27 minutes, raving about following orders and not deviating from plans. 

Several times, you’d been tempted to interrupt, but John’s hand on your knee the first time you went to kept you in your place. There was no point. Valentina had decided that you’d both failed, and arguing with her on the semantics of sending out multiple agents at once without informing each other was pointless. She wouldn’t listen anyway. 

When she finally stopped, her chest heaving and her eyes ablaze, you stood up. Wordlessly, you fished the usb out of your pocket and dropped it on her desk. “What’s that?” she demanded. 

“A usb stick full of files from the CIA,” you explained bluntly, your voice a deadpan mockery of itself as you spoke. “It’s here because of me, and I’m here because of him. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all you need to know. Are we dismissed now, Miss Contessa?” 

You refused to flinch or even blink at the intense look Val leveled you with. Her eyes burned. All of you did as well. You knew it was stupid to bite at the hand that fed you, but God, what an exceptional final meal her fingers could make. 

You wondered how this would be taken out on you next. 

Tag List: @gonzo-induced-gender-crisis @ultraviolence969 @shartythefarty @local-limebug

[webbedworries]

I hate how much Pepper gets put aside. She's not just Tony's assistant/girlfriend/wife, she's her whole person. She's a CEO of a billion dollar company (and probably more), a survivor of abuse and torture (of Aldrich Killian when he injected her Extremis which probably resulted in mild ptsd), a loving mother (i loathe that she got forgotten and basically had one scene with her own daughter). She's even a superhero (RESCUE)!! And you're telling me that she wasn't important?!?!? I also hate mcu women that get minimized (Natasha romanoff, Maria hill, Carol Danvers, Melinda may, Bobbi morse, Shuri and many, many more). Don't get me wrong, Tony stark and Peter Parker are part of my favorite characters ever, but they get talked about so much and mcu women get sidelined so much it annoys me.

[maagisterpavus]

been thinking about IM3 a lot lately, and I know I’ve beat this into the ground over the years, but like… did Extremis just fall off the face of the planet in MCU or what

I can’t remember if this is fanon or if it was confirmed somewhere but I read that Tony used it to heal his chest from the arc reactor once he had it removed, so (if that’s canon) he has access to the technology

So like… why didn’t he use it for Rhodey after he got injured in civil war? are there limitations to what Extremis can heal, and it wouldn’t have helped him? did Tony offer it, and rhodey refused?

or did marvel just forget about it?

[aralenorimaki01]

Iron Man Extremis Armor

Suit up, Simmers! 🚀

Unleash your inner Tony Stark with our latest Sims 4 custom content inspired by Iron Man’s Extremis Armor! 🦾

Swatches: 

Classic Red and Gold

Silver Centurion

War Machine

Get ready to take your Sims’ superhero game to the next level! 🦸‍♂️✨

[lxnabeetv]

A Marvel Newcomer's Thoughts on Iron Man 3 (2013)

>SPOILERS AHEAD<

Sorry for the INSANELY long wait of... what was it, 6 weeks? Life hit the fan a bit, but I've been watching every other day with my boyfriend the last week or so. I've been meaning to write reviews buuuuuuut I felt like playing PowerWash simulator a bit TOO much.

Well... this was quite an interesting movie. This wasn't as good as Captain America by a LONG shot but it wasn't quite as boring as Thor. The bar is quite low, but still. Iron Man 3 was an up and down and upside down absolute clusterfuck of emotions. While it fell flat in a few parts, the movie was overall pretty decent.

It was nice to briefly see Yinson again for the Swiss flashback. It was also great to see DUM-E, my favorite moronic robot with his absolutely adorable charm again. Seeing the dunce cap on him was fucking hilarious. I love DUM-E so goddamn much.

I feel so bad for poor Tony. He's clearly going through PTSD, and I can't blame him for it. He's just... a guy. It sucks that he was kinda forced to go up to wherever the fuck the Chitauri are. He's still as witty and crazy as before, just struggling more. He's doing the best he can, and I love him dearly for it.

The Mandarin made for an absolutely hilarious villain. I genuinely wasn't expecting him to be a facade for Killian. Trevor is just a silly little guy and a genuine contender for one of my favorite characters in this movie.

Pepper underwent so much shit in this movie. I feel so bad for the poor woman. She had to deal with Killian, then tortured by Killian to get Extremis, then almost died falling into a fiery pile of metal. She's such an absolute badass. I adore her.

Maya on the other hand... she's a bit fucked up but I didn't hate her. She was a bit boring, to be honest. Her creation is sick as hell, but I honestly just found her dull. I feel bad that Killian shot her, but she was kinda dull to me.

Rhodey continues to be one of my favorite characters. He's such a serious yet playful guy, and I adore him for it. He's a lowkey badass and honestly a gem of a character.

Another total gem was Harley. He's so cute and so annoying in the best way. I love how well he messes with Tony in a way only a kid can. He's quite possibly one of my favorite minor characters. To be fair, I say that about a lot of characters. But I mean it this time!! He was super helpful while also pissing Tony off.

Speaking of minor characters, was that Jenna Ortega???? The little girl in the wheelchair that the VP was trying to get Extremis for???? That looks like little Jenna Ortega. (I looked it up and it is.)

The ending scene was insane and I loved every second of it. Watching all the suits fly around made my heart leap in the best way. I was so invested and I loved how Tony had different nicknames for each suit. Pepper also being able to help hold her own during the fight was stellar. Plus the suit fireworks... god DAMN what a good ending. Also, welcome back Happy! I'm glad you woke up :)

The "therapist" falling asleep while Tony was talking was absolutely fucking hilarious. It honestly took me waaaaaaaayyyyyyy longer than it should've to realize that it was Banner. Either way, their relationship is so freaking adorable. I love them dearly.

My tidbits in Rivals:

Iron Man's Armor Model 42 skin

My rating: 7/10. A solid movie all around. Trevor was adorable, the iron suits all flying in was great, and Harley was just the sweetest lil kid. High points and low points, as all movies have, but mostly pretty high. The Stan Lee cameo was 10/10 as always. However, now that I've seen this one, I'm concerned for my sanity, as the next movie is a Thor movie and we all know how I felt about the first one. Praying it's better. Please God, let it be better.

[iamumbra195]

You know how after Tony defeated Extremis in Iron Man 3 and started looking into their research in order to stabilize Pepper?

It would've been cool if he began to do experiments using their research on animals/insects to see how it would react and how he could improve upon it so it could actually benefit the public and then in the post-credits scene there could be a mutated spider crawling through the vents then lowering itself onto the shoulder of one Peter Parker that is there on a field trip.

He got scared and tried to brush it off but it ended up biting his hand and Tada! Here is the origin of MCU Spider-Man!

I mean, if you're just gonna change a bunch of Spider-Man lore in these movies, might as well take it all the way rather than ignoring and never mentioning how and where he got his powers.

Plus, it would tie Tony and Peter together beyond Tony just randomly deciding to pull him into the whole Civil War mess like a complete asshole.

[thingsasbarcodes]

Iron Man 3 (2013)

[aethernalstars]

I'm sure the X-men and assorted associated characters will get their slice of the spotlight but I am excited for a fair number of them. Magneto, Gambit and Nightcrawler are gonna be fun to see (Gambit better have some discard effect). But the one I'm most curious about is Rogue. I wanna know how the copy effect is gonna work. I'm guessing she's gonna make a Mutant a 0/X and copying/stealing its text box

Also I'm hoping we get a Jeff the Land Shark card. And an Extremis card but the original from the 05-06 comic arc, not the MCU version

Additionally I'm very curious about how non-legendary creatures are gonna work in these draft sets. Henchmen and SHIELD agents other guys I guess? Along with faceless members of other assorted organizations?

So now that we're 1 week out from our first look at Universes Beyond: Marvel, I figured I'd go ahead and toss this out here: what Marvel characters do you most want to see get a card? Feel free to chime in with either popular characters you think actually have a good chance or those obscure characters that you would love to see even if you don't think they're super likely.

For me, I'm 99% certain Thor and Deadpool will make it in, but I also think Squirrel Girl has a fairly good chance. She's not exactly mainstream popular, but she's not the most obscure character and I'm sure MaRo probably jumped at the chance to sneak some squirrels into the Marvel set.

My obscure picks are Koi Boy and Escapade, entirely because both characters are canonically trans and I just want to see more trans characters on Magic cards. I think they have a 1% chance of getting cards, but I would love to see them.

[delicatebarness]

bridges to burn | prologue

Summary: You arrive at the Avengers Compound to manage your uncontrollable Extremis powers. As you navigated the new environment, you clash with your assigned babysitter/bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Iron Man 3. Intense Emotional Conflict. Superpowers and Uncontrollable Abilities. Parental Concern and Pressure. Family Tension. Emotional and Physical Heat.

Word Count: 1103

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A/N: Oh look, another.

BTB Tags: - Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this serious.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Touching down at the Avengers Compound, the Quinjet’s engines hummed softly as they powered down. You stepped off the lowering ramp and took in the sprawling complex. The building was an impressive blend of sleek modern design and cutting-edge technology, lush greenery surrounded the wide-open spaces. The peaceful landscape contrasted against the bustling chaos of the city, where you spent most of your life. 

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood waiting for you near the entrance, concern, and determination etched across his aging features. The familiar scent of motor oil and cologne filled your senses as he enveloped you in a quick hug. His grip around you was firm, silently reassuring you that he was there for you. 

“Welcome home, kid,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, his eyes revealed the worry he had tried to mask. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

Following him through the compound, you passed training rooms that were filled with state-of-the-art equipment, common areas where you caught glimpses of some familiar faces, and the impressive hangar with various vehicles and aircraft. The building buzzed with activity, yet there was still a sense of order and purpose. 

Finally, you reached Tony’s sanctuary, his lab. The place you knew he felt most at home. You marveled at the array of gadgets and projects scattered around, as you followed his gesture for you to step in. Screens displayed holographic schematics, while robotic arms moved with precision, a new creation being assembled. The faint hum of machinery was a comforting backdrop. 

“And, this is where the magic happens,” Tony said, pride touching his voice. Watching you take it all in, his lips played a small smile. “But, before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to talk about.” 

Raising your eyebrow suspiciously, you waited for him to continue. Looking uncharacteristically nervous, he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I know things have been… rough since the incident,” he began, trying carefully to choose his words. He leaned against a workbench, fixing his gaze on a point somewhere behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, I know you’re struggling to control the Extremis,” he trailed off, pausing before he continued, “but, we can’t have another accident like that. Not again.” 

The memory of the uncontrollable heat coursing through your veins caused you to flinch. The sight of the flames, the smell of burning wood, the panic in the firefighter’s voice as they tried to contain the damage. Since it saved your life as a child, you lived with the Extremis virus. Your mother, Maya Hansen’s legacy, turned you into a ticking time bomb. 

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do better.” 

Shaking his head, Tony pushed off the workbench and stepped closer to you. “It’s not about doing better. It’s about getting help. Which is why I’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you.” 

The door to the lab opened, snapping your attention away from your dad before you could protest. And in walked, Bucky Barnes– The Winter Soldier. You had seen him in action and heard the ghost stories, but meeting him in person… that was different. He was imposing, a steely gaze seemingly assessing every detail of the room, and you. As he approached, his movements were fluid, almost predatory.

“Tin-Man, this is my daughter,” Tony spoke as he gestured toward you. “She’s going to be staying here for a while. And… you’re going to be looking out for her.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly toward you, and you could see in his piercing gaze that he was as thrilled about this arrangement as you were. “I was expecting a kid,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance carrying in his voice. Crossing his arms over his chest, the metal of his arm caught against the light. 

“No, I’m not a kid,” you snap back, matching his posture. “And, I don’t need a glorified babysitter. Unless,” you paused, shoot Bucky a playful smirk. “You’re here to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?” 

Tony stepped between you, holding up a hand to forestall any pending argument. “Easy, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. Barnes’ here to help, whether you like it or not.” 

You glare at Bucky, who returns the look with an equal intensity. “Fantastic,” you said, your voice dripped with sarcasm. “My very own bodyguard, don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

Smirking, Bucky’s eyes filled with amusement almost as if he was accepting a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your iris’ blazed with anger, a burning orange glow. 

His smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say… Princess.” 

Watching the exchange, Tony’s expression changed to one of concern and exasperation. His face, usually composed, now showed signs of strained patience. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to stifle a sigh. “Alright, both of you,” he injects, his voice filled with frustration. “This isn’t a battlefield. Can we at least try to keep it professional?” 

You took a glance at Tony, then back at Bucky, who still had a smirk plastered across his face, enjoying the friction. Tony continued, his tone firm but weary. “I get that you two won’t see eye to eye, but let’s keep the drama to a minimum. We’re here to make sure things don’t  go up in flames, literally.” 

Squaring off with Bucky, you took another step closer. The heat between you both was almost tangible. “I mean it, Winter Soldier. I’m not some dame in distress that you get to boss around.” 

Leaning in, his voice was a low, taunting whisper. “And I’m not some nanny here to hold your hand.” 

The tension crackled between you, and you noticed how his eyes were cold and calculating, with a flicker of something else– something that mirrored the heat in your own. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something more, but whatever it was, made your heart race. 

“Good,” you retorted, sarcasm stayed laced within your words. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you could handle me.” 

His eyes locked with yours, his smirking only growing. “Trust me, Princess, I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of his challenge rush through you. “We’ll see about that.” 

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze burning into your back. This wasn’t over– far from it. And somehow, the thought of that excited you as much as it infuriated you.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[maukree]

Masterpost with all parts So, I did a deep dive into WinterIron circa 616 like (not) a total asshole—because I fully recognize that writing a hyper-specific, canonically obsessive fic about Tony and Bucky in the Marvel 616 comicverse and expecting MCU-only fans to keep up without at least a "the fuck kind of AU is this?" head scratch is a bit of a dick move. And here we are. Comics fucking deliver. I promise. But do you actually need to read them all to get and enjoy what happens in any 616 fic you come across? Nah. Honestly. You don’t have to (unless you want to, in which case, welcome to the abyss) to get through the basics. FYI, this isn’t an all-encompassing timeline of Tony and Bucky in comic books—because I don’t have a year, and you don’t have all day. Their individual stories don’t start with Civil War (which, by the way, actually deserves to be called a 'war' in 616) or end with Fear Itself. But I’m covering their key arcs—picking and choosing shit as I please that I felt was relevant through my winteriron goggles—from Captain America: Out of Time (Bucky’s baggage) and Invincible Iron Man: Extremis (Tony’s baggage), through the pre-Civil War mess, the war itself, the aftermath, their intersections, and then stopping at Fear Itself—because I respect my own need to occasionally shower or something. Anyhow, if this pops off and everyone suddenly decides to start reading comics… sure. Hit me up for more. But even if that’s not happening, feel free to click that Keep Reading button for Part 1 and appreciate my ability to cram years of comic book history into an image limit. I was even nice enough to find you some links if you want to give it a proper shot and read comic books (oh, and that Marvel Unlimited subscription they have for reading comics fucking slaps, just saying. And no, they are not paying me to say it): *links direct to marvel.com, but don't click there yet, obviously. The Invincible Iron Man (2004–2007) Captain America (2004–2011) Invincible Iron Man (2008–2012) Fear Itself (2010–2011) If you read this part you will know where Tony, Bucky and Steve are just before 616 Civil War properly kicks off.

You clicked! I am so sorry for how long this is. Force-quit the app to escape it at any stage. The images are after each plot arc and I am in love with the endless scroll Tumblr does to accommodate so much visual content. So, the way I look at it, for me it really begins around the Invincible Iron Man: Extremis time, when they kicked off the The Invincible Iron Man (2004–2007) series, so lets get that shit out of the way. Not that it’s shit, but Tony’s definitely not having a good time. (And no, it’s not because Bucky killed his parents—didn’t happen in the comics—nor because he suspected his bestie Steve was about to start a rival gang just to flex at an airport for 4.5 seconds and call it a “war”.) Anyway, the point is: MCU canon ≠ 616 canon. The Marvel 616 comicverse is the gift that keeps on giving to the MCU, which picks and chooses what it likes (the rant is over in 3, 2, 1... since I adore MCU.) So, before Tony ever crosses paths with his (hypothetical, not actually canon there either) man-love Bucky in comic books I've mentioned above, here’s what’s happening with him. Extremis: #1-6 When this starts off, Tony has been out there in the comicverse pretending to be the boss of Iron Man for ages—like, “Oh yeah, I totally just fund this guy/bodyguard and lend him to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers occasionally”. Incidentally, he was actually stuck wearing the Iron Man chest plate to stay alive for a while before that, and has complex relationship with his suit and with his ability to look at himself in the mirror. He is working himself half-dead in his garage to the background of folks hating on Stark for military contracts that he uses to fund other projects. It’s an awesome 6 comic books arc, but the gist is that a shady biohacker named Maya Hansen (Tony’s ex, because of course she is) and her equally shady colleague Aldrich Killian (yes, that guy, but way less Mandarin cosplay this time and he does peace out very quickly) cook up Extremis—a next-gen super-soldier serum for US government, yup. Maya wants to cure cancer or something, but lacks money (hence working for the military for now), the government stops paying for her program and she decides to hit Tony up, lies her ass off, and sets someone on him for show to demonstrate to the powers that be that her biotech is just this good and can take down the most advanced armor in the world (aka, Tony's shit.) Tony gets his ass absolutely handed to him by a poster child for domestic terrorism juiced up on Extremis, since Maya's shit is the bomb. His suit has been getting more and more clunky as he makes it more powerful, he can't react in it fast enough, gets very squashed under a car, breaks himself a lot, has a mid-life crisis, and decides, “Screw it, let’s put that nightmare fuel in me instead so I can chat to my tin can better and really lean into the whole Iron Man thing. Fixing all these bones I am just after breaking and a ton of internal damage wouldn't hurt either.” Maya's down to help, since Tony might've been a good fuck, and she fancies herself to be a good person, so Tony makes some modifications to how Extremis works and it... works. Fixes him right up with the promise of growing new organs should they need to be grown, makes him faster, stronger, able to mentally pilot the suit with a thought, effortlessly connect to tech using his mind and even form his under suit (flight suit) over his body and … officially way too powerful for his own good.

Execute Program: #1-6 Or, as I like to call it, “That one time Tony’s own tech betrayed him and he went, ‘Okay, maybe we do need some rules.’” This starts fresh off Tony’s Extremis glow-up, and he’s doing what he does best: building way too many suits (sooo many kickass suits called argonauts), fighting bad guys, and making Fury and the Avengers increasingly suspicious because he keeps being late to shit. (Sorry, guys, he’s busy being a futurist, obviously, and frankly, he’s kicking almost too much ass.) To be fair, their paranoia is kinda justified, since Tony’s brain is getting hacked by Yinsen’s son (huge angsty point for Tony for not saving him), who is hijacking his entire nervous system using the tech Yinsen originally implanted into Tony for the Taliban—right before waking him up and going, “Hi, you owe me your life.” So, the basic plot of Execute Program is that Tony starts assassinating some high-profile assholes responsible for Yinsen’s death—all without knowing it. For a while he's convinced it's not him and makes a big deal about it with Fury but eventually even he can't deny it, at which point Tony hits existential crisis #872, is very unhappy about being mind-fucked, and ‘paroles’ Maya out of jail by blowing a hole in a wall to see if his former gal-love will help him deal with it. At the end of this arc he manages to break free of the programming and survive, but his suits do a fuck ton of damage in the process, and he's now officially realizing that he’s become a walking, government-grade security risk—just because of how awesome he is. To quote him: “Every superhero is a potential gun (whether they act on their own or not), and last time I checked, guns require registration.” Now, this whole arc is meant to explain why Tony is firmly on the pro-registration side when Civil War rolls into town. It's a stretch, but some other shit leads up to Civil War and the 'need' for registration, but this is sorta where he's mind is at, and this is where we leave him for now before Civil War kicks into gear. P.S. Some multi-ship snacks from 'Execute Program', because 616 contains multitudes: Spidershield: Spider-Man (Avenger-adjacent, menace-certified) casually calls Cap cute during a mission while hovering over him within kissing distance. Starker / IronDad: during the same mission, Tony loses his absolute shit when Peter gets hurt and goes feral. Stony: Look, 616 is basically the Tony & Steve Show—but if you need specifics, there’s always that time at the end of this arc when Tony dramatically knocks himself out by shocking his own heart (thinking it would kill him) to stop Cap from getting obliterated by his own rogue suits. Because, you know. Normal super hero behavior.

Alright, so we’re leaving Tony where he is—on the pro-registration side, deep in his own moral and existential mess (I’ll unpack what the story is with registration more later, in the next part, because hoo boy). But now, let’s talk about Bucky. Because, wow, a lot is going on with Bucky around this time, though it's completely unnecessary to know exactly when this happens, since comic books tend to constantly contradict each other and forget some canon-points exist (on this note, Tony is actually hella tall in comic books, and he's mostly drawn with blue eyes, although sometimes it's brown eyes due to the coloring and Bucky's mostly drawn with very dark eyes, and the blue eyes is really more of a Sebastian Stan thing, for which he love him for. On another unrelated note, Dum Dum Dugan is alive and kicking and working with S.H.I.E.L.D, but it's neither here or there. I digress.) At this stage, Bucky and Tony haven’t officially ‘met’ yet, but Tony is vaguely aware of his existence, mostly as Steve's long-dead-but-actually-not-dead ex-partner/sidekick who has been doing Very Concerning Things in the shadows. And, to be fair, the dude has been busy too. So yeah, while Tony is spiraling about accountability and unchecked power, Bucky's been out there being the literal embodiment of both, working against his will for some VERY bad guys. Since Bucky is all about Steve and his storyline, he initially pop-ups in the Captain America (2004–2011), so let's talk about Steve and his feelings for a bit. Steve... has a lot of feelings by the way, so for all of your Stucky shippers, this is the comic book to read.

Captain America: Out of Time #1-6 Aka “Steve has a lot of feelings™ while occasionally punching things and still finds time for his complicated love life.” So, Out of Time starts off with Steve being… well, Steve. Which means brooding way too hard about war, his place in the world (as Captain America—again—it’s more of a title and a suit in comics, kinda, though he is the OG), and whether punching Nazis in the ’40s was somehow easier than dealing with modern geopolitics. He’s having flashbacks galore—about Bucky, WWII, and the several times he’s watched people he loves die (if you take a shot every time he stares sadly into the distance and remembers shit, you’ll be wasted by page 4). At the beginning of this run, he’s mostly juggling personal life + professional trauma, spending quality time with his ex (*Nick Fury, who he technically broke up with in the ’90s, but we don’t talk about it—Marvel also wishes those issues didn’t exist. Looking at you, Fury #1-4 (1994) and his actual ex-but-still-kind-of-current love interest, Sharon Carter (S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent 13, absolute badass, we love her). Meanwhile, in the Villain Corner, Bucky is currently in deep-freeze, and Red Skull is trying to buy him (for evil purposes, obviously). But Winter Soldier is way too useful to his current owner, who calls him an ‘item’ (it’s all very gutting and transactional), and Red Skull isn’t willing to part with the Cosmic Cube (important-for-plot-reasons, reality-warping bullshit in a box)—not even for the privilege of having a brainwashed supersoldier on his payroll. Which turns out to be a bad call for Red Skull, because Bucky gets defrosted anyway and immediately blows his brains out (Winter Soldier: 1, Red Skull: 0), since his current owner wants the Cosmic Cube, and Bucky is an incredibly efficient, very sexy, and deeply tragic murder machine who follows orders. [Unlike his silent MCU counterpart, 616 Winter Soldier is chatty (ish). He’s brainwashed, yeah, but he talks, makes decisions, occasionally argues over tactics, but you can tell there’s a mind-fuckery hellscape happening behind the scenes. But he is also aware, somewhat, which is the point. Sure, he’s traumatized as hell, but in a very “this is my job, and I do it” way. He has conversations, meaning that once they fix him later, it’s less about split personality and more about remembering who he was. (Which, you know, brings a whole new level of pain to this. Yummy, yummy angst.) Quick sidenote: Bucky is younger than Steve in the comics (an army brat/orphan), and he was basically groomed (yup…) into being Cap’s teenage sidekick—gun, mask, and all—at 16.] So, all of this is happening, with Bucky out and about causing trouble, while Steve is busy having a ton of dreams about him (not the sexy kind, unfortunately—more blood and gore), which turn out to be foreshadowing (shock). Long story short, Bucky kidnaps Sharon (not for relationshippy reasons, let’s be clear), and at the moment Steve gets Sharon back and Bucky seriously considers gunning him down, it finally clicks for Steve—Bucky is alive. Steve makes a face (there you are, the real love of my life—awwww ignore me), Bucky still considers gunning him down, but the confrontation doesn’t actually happen since it’s all about the feels at this stage and the mission to save Bucky.

Captain America: Winter Soldier #1-6 In which Steve goes on a manic quest to find his buddy, Tony is devastated about capitalism, and Bucky has an identity crisis before running off to be broody and sexy somewhere else. This arc is packed. Like, really packed. Coming off the world-shattering realization that Bucky (war buddy, partner-in-justice and emotional crutch)—is alive and well (ish), Steve is a bit shook. He did actually call him “Bucky?” during that initial meet, to which Bucky, of course, replied with the iconic “Who the hell is Bucky?”—delivering both an emotional orgasm for any Stucky shippers and an immediate MCU meme template. And yet—this is the best part for me, lol—despite literally calling him Bucky, Steve proceeds to not actually believe it after it happens. Fury has to wave stacks of receipts in his face for ages (“Here’s a ton of proof that your bestie has been a brainwashed, undying assassin for decades.”) before Steve finally believes, rejoices, gets upset and very conflicted, but then goes absolutely bananas trying to find him. And because Fury is nothing if not dramatic, Steve gets a whole-ass file on Winter Soldier lore conveniently dropped at his place—and let me tell you, this thing is THICK. Pages upon pages of experiments, war crimes, and Bucky being terrifying as the Winter Soldier. It’s delicious, I want it on my wall. At this stage we have the first official Tony & Bucky intersection. Steve and Sam (still called Falcon, professional bird enthusiast, talks to them and everything) need help tracking down the Cosmic Cube, which Bucky currently has. And Tony is an absolute legend who helps them do it. Despite actively running a multi-billion dollar empire, Tony stops everything to help them track down Bucky and the Cube. But—massive conflict of interest incoming—the location they need to attack is a bit of a problem (understatement) because Tony’s company is in trouble if he goes with them. So Tony, looking like he wants to die inside (he really does, see the images), provides Steve and Sam with his jet and all the resources they need but ultimately can’t go. And you can tell he’s real cut up about it. You can. I can. Everyone can. Though at this stage he obviously doesn't know Bucky, but... it's all in the details. Anyhow, because Iron Man team-up isn’t happening for this specific epic quest to save Bucky, Steve and Sam go in alone (Sharon with S.H.I.E.L.D. at their heels and all), find Bucky, and then it’s ON. And when I say on, I mean full-blown, action-packed, ridiculously cool fight scene with Steve throwing hands and heartfelt speeches, and Bucky countering with kicks and emotional repression. Steve desperately tries to break through to Bucky, reminding him who he is, but Bucky is having none of it. (He’s definitely feeling something, though, because he’s looking a little too emotional.) [Here’s the thing: Bucky has surfaced before? The people controlling him even kept records saying not to send him on long-term missions too close to home, because when they did he tried to escape. The memories are still there, buried deep under decades of trauma, brainwashing, and whatever the hell Russian winter does to a man.]

They fight. Fight some more. And Steve pulls the ultimate “If you don’t remember me, kill me” move. At which point Bucky absolutely tries. (And I love myself a consistent man.) During the fight, however, Steve gets his manly hands on the Cosmic Cube, which, being the overpowered reality-warping bullshit box that it is, does what it was written into the comic book to do in the first place: it restores Bucky’s memories. WHOOP. Except… Bucky remembers EVERYTHING. And, uh, that’s a lot. And seems very traumatic and painful. An absolute mental overload, horror, and a whole lot of “I should be dead” vibes. Steve is hopeful, trying to reassure him, but Bucky is noping the fuck out. He's not doing well, immediately spirals into guilt, and decides the best course of action is to disappear. Which he does by fucking off to brood alone. Far away. In a sexy, tortured assassin way. My favorite six issues of Captain America pre-Civil War, hands down. There was some other shit in between Out of Time and Winter Soldier, some bad guy plays and all, some stuff about mutant registration, but I’ll get to that a bit later, in Part 2, as a general thing about what started the Civil War.

Captain America: Twenty-First Century Blitz #1-4 God, where do I even start with this one? Well, I suppose with the important shit. And what’s important is that Bucky is in the wind (sorta), but he and Steve meet up in London and spend a lot of time yelling at each other in terror, there’s a blimp involved, and also, we’re still technically on the WinterIron timeline, I swear. This arc is not my favorite. It’s not bad, but, as mentioned, it’s mostly just Steve and Bucky screaming at each other. (Which, if you ship them, is yummy. If you don’t, it’s a lot of yelling.) Bucky’s former 'owner', the one who sent him to kill Red Skull and get the Cosmic Cube is a bad dude called General Lukin. This guy is still around, and he is now fighting for control inside his own head with… Red Skull. Yes. Red Skull is not fully dead and is mind-fucking him. (Which is very ironic, if you’re into that kind of irony.) And because no villainous plot is complete without an evil megacorporation, Lukin is also deeply tied to Kronos—which just so happens to be the same shady-ass corporation Tony is having problems with on his end (and also the reason he couldn’t go and help out Steve with Bucky). So, Steve is after Lukin. Bucky is after Lukin. Everyone is after Lukin. Tony is… somewhere, likely wishing he was after Lukin. Oh yeah, and there’s a blimp. For reasons best left to comic book logic, Lukin has a blimp. And he has a bad, evil plan, because, well, comic books are full of those and it’s a Captain America story, so it needs at least one Nazi-adjacent asshole pulling some overcomplicated bullshit per issue. Honestly, this whole arc is barely worth mentioning. They win, obviously. The bad plan is foiled, and the blimp does not succeed at being evil. But Bucky gets his arm blown off, so that’s kind of an exciting bit if you want to draw parallels between this and the MCU. The art is nice too. And because this is a Winter Soldier story (as much as it is a Captain America story—oh, just wait!) and consistency is key, Bucky, being a bit of a loner, fucks off immediately after their glorious team-up. But—a bit of a loner is not entirely a loner. Bucky has actually been working with Fury in secret since getting his memories back (surprise!) and is expecting a shiny new arm for his troubles. (So this is probably where all the “S.H.I.E.L.D. working on Bucky’s arm” fics come from, but I’m just guessing here.) Steve doesn't know this is the case and is still angsty AF over the fact that Bucky keeps bailing before they can cry and talk about their deep emotional bond. I have no idea what Sharon thinks about this, but she is a grown-up badass with a flying car (think red Lola from Agents of the S.H.I.E.L.D TV show), and she seems more sympathetic than jealous.

The end of these three arcs is where Bucky and Steve are just before Civil War kicks off, while—just to remind you all—Tony is off having his big “I am pro-registration” revelations and generally making decisions that will ruin his social life for the foreseeable future. Now, if anyone knows for sure where London happens in relation to Execute Program—before? After? In a quantum state of both?—don’t tell me. I don’t care. The timeline is a chaotic mess on the best day, and that’s before you factor in the fact that there are approximately five million other comic book series running at the same time, with characters popping in and out of different issues. Spider-Man has his own stuff going on, Fantastic Four is around, Avengers are a thing, Wolverine is doing his thing too, and it would be crazy to rope all of this in here. Besides, I bet it makes way more sense to people who were reading these comics as they dropped and kept up with literally everything. For the rest of us, losers, if you REALLY want to know all the tie-ins from different superheroes and whatnot, there’s a five-hour YouTube deep dive for that. I feel asleep around hour three and blacked out most of it, even though it's good, so go forth and suffer accordingly, if you wish to know about comic books pre and during Civil War.

Okay, but why are we talking about Civil War in comic books If there’s fuck-all winteriron in it? Great question. And the answer is: because it matters. And, yes, at this stage you either had to close Tumblr to get rid of my post (I know it's long) or are into it anyway, so... Look, I know what you’re thinking—no interaction at all yet. And that’s fair. Comic book Civil War is not at all the MCU Civil War, which was essentially a Steve/Tony drama bomb with Bucky stuck in the middle like a stressed-out single child, unless you count Peter (shoutout to winterspider) and Wanda, sorta. But: the state of the Steve/Tony relationship in 616 Civil War is a direct precursor to how Bucky and Tony actually interact when they finally do meet in 616. Their first real meeting, and everything that happens after it, is soaked in the aftermath of Civil War—not just in terms of plot, but in how they act around each other (which is fascinating, by the way, but we’ll get there). To run a bit ahead here, just to keep you interested, by the time Bucky and Tony actually share a scene in comic books in this timeline, Tony has already:

Had his entire relationship with Steve imploded in the most public way possible.

Spent months (years?) being the face of an extremely controversial movement.

Lost a lot of friends, made a lot of enemies, and had his personal values challenged to hell and back.

Been through an identity crisis about a thousand times.

Had to experience Spider-Man asking him WHAT THE FUCK, TONY? (maybe not in these words exactly)

All while Bucky has been:

On the run from Steve.

Alone.

Having a Very Bad Time.

So, yeah, even though Bucky and Tony don't exactly cross paths a this stage, the emotional damage absolutely carries over into their interactions later. This is the end of Part 1 of this 'brief' recap, since I am re-reading to make this and taking screenshots as I do. I will cover the actual comicverse Civil War in the next part.

Masterpost with all parts

[gunsandspaceships]

Many degrees of Doctor Stark

It is widely known that 616 Tony has several doctorates. The number varies from 3 to 7, but it doesn't really matter whether he is 300 or 700% Doctor. He is one. And he doesn’t use his title 99.999% of the time.

Ok, but what about the MCU?

It is never mentioned whether Tony has a PhD or even a master's degree. Kinda weird. Both the absence of mentions and lack of degrees, since Tony is so smart and productive.

Let’s check, maybe he actually has some.

Here we have a file from a deleted scene from The Avengers (2012):

As we can see, the work is sloppy – there are inaccuracies in his hair color (it’s not black, it’s brown), and the fact that he speaks French was not included. Can we rely on this paper? Let’s not 100%, but we can still use things that don't contradict the movies.

The fact that he received his BS in Engineering from MIT does not contradict this, so we can mark it as valid. He started in 1984 when he was 14 years old and graduated in 1987 when he was 17.

We see no further education in the file. But we know something that this file doesn’t. We watched the movies.

Remember, in Civil War at 0:13:25, in the scene where Tony sees his parents for the last time, Maria tells Howard, “Be nice, dear, he’s been studying abroad”. Tony is 21 here, this is December 16, 1991. Looks like he is on winter break.

But wait… Didn’t he graduate in 1987 and stop then? Well, Maria tells us he continued.

Between 17 and 21 there are 4 years. What could he have done in these 4 years? A lot, right? He is smart and productive, we know that. A master’s degree usually takes 2 years. Tony could earn it in 1. 1 or 2, we still have 2-3 years that we need to fill with some kind of studying. I doubt he just went back and got another bachelor's or master's. That said, he was working on his PhD.

We don't know where. “Abroad” is a very broad concept. Maybe he went to Europe to study at Oxford? We do not know. Perhaps he stayed at MIT and just went somewhere else for the fall semester. We do not know. But he did go somewhere for (most probably) a PhD.

The question is: did he finish it?

Well, his parents died in Dec 1991, and we know from the first Iron Man (0:04:50) that Stane was the interim president of Stark Industries from that date until 1992. Most likely, Tony became CEO before his birthday, that is, May 29, which corresponds to the stated age of 21. He had a few months between.

We don’t know where he was in his degree at that time. But we know he is smart and productive. He doesn’t need 4 years to write a dissertation.

So, there are 2 options:

1) He did not complete his doctorate and devoted himself entirely to the company;

2) He completed it in the few months he had and then took over the company.

Here’s the evidence for the second option:

“Confusing matters more, a recently deleted LinkedIn profile for Tony Stark indicated he received doctorates in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.”

Source: https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Given all the information and analysis we have, as well as a little logic, we can conclude that Tony has a Ph.D. Even two. He had time to do them. Why doesn't he use his title? Well, maybe for the same reason 616 Tony doesn’t? He doesn’t usually brag. Check out this post if you have any doubts about my statement.

Here are some additional hints:

He gave lectures at scientific conferences (IM1 and IM3 - Bern 1999).

His scientific expertise was not limited to engineering and his company's affairs (all the movies, but specifically I can point you to IM3– the scene with Maya Hansen and her Extremis-enhanced plants in Bern).

“He must have graduated after 1990, because the '90 Brass rat was the first one with the skyline on the edge.” MIT alumni commentary https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Conclusion (actual): call him Doctor Stark, guys, he deserves it. Despite his modesty about his scientific achievements, Dr Stark has a couple of master's degrees and at least two PhD degrees in the MCU - in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.

[tenaciousdecapitator]

Pepper having to manage her Extremis powers in both mundane and heroic contexts without becoming so stressed that she explodes would’ve been much more interesting than her being Rescue for a whopping one or two scenes at most.

rewatched iron man 3. final verdict is that the extremis stuff was insanely awesome and they should have had pepper keep it like she should have just had lava powers from then on

[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Tues)

Time Travel Tuesday - July 23rd for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Time-y whimey shenanigans!

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

finding my way back to you by Anonymous (MCU)

Ten minutes after a botched attempt at proposing to Tony, Steve is thrown back in time.

More Than Gravity by JenTheSweetie @jenthesweetie (MCU)

“Aw, time travel, no.” On Christmas Eve, Tony came unstuck in time.

Marty McFly Never Had to Deal with This by sweatervest (MCU)

Tony's latest project goes less "renewable energy" and more "slightly explosive time machine," and Howard Stark arrives from 1946. Why, Steve would like to know, are time and space going to such lengths to cockblock him?

feelings that never left by hollyandvice (MCU)

The last thing Tony expects while working on the time machine for the so-called Time Heist is to be confronted with the very man he thought he'd made his peace with. Guess some wounds run deeper than we think.

Atomic Clock by imparfait (MCU, EG)

It’s ten am on a Tuesday in May when Tony Stark appears in Clint Barton’s barn. Clint trips over him while looking for a toolbox and swears, then swears again, then thinks I need to call Nat, which makes a half-sob punch out of his throat.

A Time to Be Alive by babesrgrs (MCU, EG)

The mission to get the Mind Stone and the Tesseract from 2012 goes a bit differently AKA the slightly snarky but sexy Endgame scene that didn't make the final cut.

Lover Come Hold Me by RurouniHime @thegertie (MCU, EG)

One by one, the stones must go back.

hunters seeking solid ground by laramara @commandersteverogers (MCU, EG)

In the wake of the battle with Thanos, Steve feels unmoored in a way he hasn’t since before he ate shawarma with a group of virtual strangers and thought maybe, maybe he could one day find a place here. Steve returns the stones, and has a few unexpected interactions and makes some decisions along the way.

Mobius Strip by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing (MCU, EG)

Steve sets off to return the Infinity Stones. It ends up not being quite as straightforward as he'd imagined.

The Five Stages of a Time Loop by AirlocksandAviaries @airlocksandaviaries (MCU, EG)

Tony Stark looks Thanos in the eye. He raises his gauntlet in defiance and states his iconic phrase. He snaps, expecting death. But death doesn't come. Instead, he's back in his basement, completed time travel model in front of him. He builds the time machine. He snaps again. Again, and again, and again. Tony can't for the life of him seem to change the outcome of this story. What does change, though, is his feelings around it.

That Time Back Then by navaan @navaan (616)

An accident sends Steve and Carol back in time and watching Steve and Iron Man interact gives Steve a new perspective on how blind both of them were all those years ago.

Beside You In Time by Kiyaar @kiyaar (616)

The world is ending: Tony is evil, Steve is old. So there's nothing to stop him from making the (terrible) decision to travel back in time in a last-ditch effort to spare them both: by killing Tony's past self to spare them both from ending up where they've ended up. The Universe has other plans. An honest-to-god fix-it for Superior Iron Man, Hickman's entire run, and pretty much everything since Tony decided it was a good idea to take Extremis way back in 2005.

Mind over Matter by Missy_dee811 @laexploradoraaa (616)

For a brief moment in time, Steve had the power of the universe in his grasp, and he squandered it. The Infinity Gems, with the exception of one, ceased to exist. The Illuminati's last attempt at circumventing the laws of the universe and stopping the incursions before they targeted Earth-616 were eliminated when the precious stones shattered. But that wasn't the only thing that was broken that day. His faith in himself never recovered.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[wingheadshellhead]

any recommendations for tony stark hates himself comics -loservenom

essentially the entirety of iron man comic canon, except during the runs where the author explicitly and implicitly hates tony and thinks he really is the 'textbook narcissist billionaire playboy philanthropist' that mcu perception popularised.

but some notable favourites are below, which you can download from my masterpost:

iron man: director of s.h.i.e.l.d. - tony directly post civil war, at one of his all-time personal/professional/psychological lows

iron man vol. 1 demon in a bottle arc #120-128 - the arc that deals specifically with tony's alcoholism

iron man vol. 3 #26 - 32: tony relapses, the sentient armor is involved, the villain later in the arc is yinsen's son

iron man: fatal frontier #1-13 - some excellent tony monologue and character introspection

iron man vol. 4 - #1-6 are in the infamous extremis arc, with lots of interesting worldbuilding and transhumanism core to modern tony tech. #7-12 gets into execute program which is spicy self-loathing and dissociation era and the precursor to civil war in #13-16

the darkhold: iron man - some excellent body horror and tony character analysis

invincible iron man vol. 5 - decently well written and references tony's demon in a bottle arc

[airas-story]

Sooo... I have a goal for the year to finish some of my WIP (...without adding too many to the list... but we'll see how that goes). I just finished one! (Yay me!) So, I'm trying to decide on my next one... Figured I'd ask which one you guys are most interested in seeing get finished.

(Note: This is not binding. The muse will do as the muse will do, but the muse can be swayed with proper motivation. And if I know that a lot of people are really looking forward to a specific story, it'll add a little extra oomph.)

I'm not listing all of the WIP, just the ones I'm guessing are on people's lists. (I could be wrong!) If I'm missing one that you really want to see more of, let me know! (The only one not on the list and that I'm not taking votes for is The One to Bet On; that one is a special case.)

If you want to see all the WIP (including the ones not in the poll) you can look here.

Clarification on Someone On Your Side. While I mentally count this as a WIP, it's... obviously not, since it's a series. My goal, if I made this my next focus, would be to finish the next installment. So I would focus on writing the Iron Man 3 arc. Maybe a little weird that it's on the WIP list, but the brain insists it's a WIP, so... 🤷🏼‍♀️

A synopsis of the stories on the poll below the cut!

Then Comes Love - Fake/Pretend Relationship/Marriage between Tony and Stephen. Someone put their marriage certificate on file and that's apparently GREAT for PR. Last seen: Tony's realized he's got feelings and has NO CLUE what to do about it.

Fused at the Soul - Soul bond, Infinity Power, and Time Travel. The future was doomed and Stephen sent himself and Tony back in time, accidentally bonding their souls in the process. The two now also have infinity power available for use. Interrupted the Civil War before it could really get started! Last seen: Tony and Stephen are on Sakaar to fetch Bruce and the Hulk.

The Crisis of Change - Sequel to In Times of Crisis where Tony was erased from everyone's memory. Tony and co are trying to prepare the earth for Thanos' arrival in less than a year while Tony is also trying to figure out interpersonal relationships after five years of being missing. Last seen: Steve joined Tony's team and they're working on a plan for gathering allies.

A Burden Shared - Body Swap. Tony and Stephen have swapped bodies all their lives. Now their trying to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of Afghanistan together. Last seen: Tony was stabbed, Clint showed up as Tony's new protection detail, and Stephen learned about weapons in Gulmira.

Breathe - Soul bond/Mind bond. Destiny decided to bind Stephen and Tony together to try to prepare them for Thanos' arrival. Last seen: Tony is making decisions about Extremis and Wanda has shown back up, intent on helping/protecting Vision.

Someone On Your Side - Series. Tony and Stephen from Iron Man 2 on through the MCU. Married IronStrange. Intended as a Fix-it. Last seen: Stephen and Tony are working through Tony's PTSD post Battle of New York and Loki is a bit of a stalker (that they are aware of) who likes to get involved.