#people don't have to wait too long between chapters and i get a steady drip of Validation lol

[sharkneto]

How long do you think it should take between chapter uploads on Ao3?

As long as the author needs

[bluecookies02]

Teacher!Aizawa x Student!Reader -Feathery mess/NSFW/-

warnings: teacher/student relationship(the student is of legal age).

quirk: angel wings

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been squirming in your seat like crazy for the past 30 minutes, your thighs rubbing together as you watched the man lazily write stuff on the board, his sleeves raised up to his shoulders and his hair tied in a messy bun.

You've been eying the man for years, always too afraid to step up or say anything (for obvious reasons), and even now as you're nearing the end of your education, there's this annoying feeling in your tummy that's making you all giddy and impatient.

It's the last class of the day, all of the students tired and just wanting to go back to their dorms while you're here, dreaming about being stuffed by the black-haired man's cock.

Your wings puffed in your seat as you chewed on your pencil.

You didn't exactly care about anything he was saying, the only thought as you looked at his moving mouth was the fantasy of it lapping at your cunt.

Such sinful thoughts shouldn't cloud the mind of someone so seemingly innocent and pure.

Your feathers ruffled up as you placed your head in your arms, alerting some of the students and obviously motivating Bakugou to ~quietly~ shout you out.

You paid no mind, still staring at the man in a haze...He must've felt something...

He was always so gentle and caring, offering to rub and clean your feathers on countless occasions after training, always checking up on you or coming to your table if you needed help with anything.

While he might've done that to everybody, you felt like he had a particular fondness of you. Maybe it was just your imagination...

Your wings fluffed back down, slumping against your back as they curled around your tiny form.

You spent your years in this school pinning for someone you might never have, instead of going out to parties and meeting new people. And the biggest problem was, you weren't only painfully attracted to him, but you also caught yourself falling in love with the man.

Maybe if you were a bit older? What if he already had someone and it was impossible from the start? You didn't want to know...it would crush you completely.

The bell seemed to have rung a few moments ago, all of the students already having their bags packed and on their back, leaving through the door one by one.

You stuffed your notebook in messily, crumbling it as you pulled the zipper. You stared at the floor as you made your way in-between desks, just wanting to take a long warm bath and cry.

"Y/N, everything alright?" your eyes darted to the voice, your mouth suddenly drying up as you just gave a weak nod.

Before stepping anywhere further, the door was pushed closed in front of you, the tall man hovering over you as he looked at you with warm eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, I want to help..." he trailed off, reaching for your hand as you hopelessly gave it to him.

He sat you down on his chair, him leaning against the table.

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa...I don't think there's anything you can do to help me in this situation."

Your wings felt heavy on your back, actually, your own bones felt heavy too.

He reached out to pet your head comfortingly, noticing the way your cheeks flushed and your feathers straightened.

"Can you look at me real quick, please" you raised your head a bit, looking at the man with scared eyes.

Your wings betraying you as they gave a small twitch.

"Y/N, please correct me if I'm wrong because I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way" you nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Is it a crush problem?" you nodded again, eyes falling down to your lap.

"Is that person in our class?" he questioned, his shoulders stiff.

"Theoretically..." you mumble, your form shaking a bit as you took in a deep breath.

"And theoretically...I personally...am actually capable of helping you out?" you clutched at the chair for a second before trying to will your legs to move and get you out of here.

His fingers hooked your chin up gently, your teary eyes closing and squinting shut.

"So you literally gave yourself a heartache for nothing angel" he mumbled softly, pulling you up in front of his face.

"Can I kiss you sweetheart?" you stared at him in shock, brainstorming through what's about to happen, your heart skipping beats as his breath ghosted over your lips.

"Pleasee" your needy voice filled his ear before he smashed your lips together, his arms snaking around your back and under your wings, pulling your body flush against his, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Your wings fluffed back, full and strong, flexing as they tried to look pretty and inviting.

He chuckled into the kiss, dragging his dull nails across the junction of your wings, kneading at the soft feathers.

You hummed in his mouth, pressing harder against him as you tangled your hand through his hair.

Once the two of you stopped to breathe, you were pushed onto the desk, your legs spreading to let him come back closer.

"It's my turn to lock all of the doors on this floor, no one will come here" he mumbled, gently kissing at your neck.

"Please...don't make me wait...I'll beg if I have to" you whined, fisting the fabric of his thin shirt.

"No need sweetheart, we'll have time to take things slow some other occasion." his long fingers slipped beneath your skirt, rubbing over your panties as he felt the soaked patch of cotton.

"Dirty little feather...were you thinking about me during class today? Do you even know what the subject was?" he grinned, pushing the fabric aside as he slipped a finger into your heat.

"I...maybe?" you whispered tilting your head back as he pumped the digit carefully, working you open before slipping in another one.

His lips swallowed up your moans, his free hand creeping under your shirt and rubbing at your flush skin. His fingers curled up, pushing snuggly against your spots making you gasp into his mouth.

"I'm gonna make you feel so full angel, is that what you want? For me to take good care of you?"

Your hands reached for his pants, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper, slipping both his pants and boxers down.

Your wings shook a bit, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock. It looked painfully hard and heavy, twitching each time you clenched around his fingers, his tip oozing out pearly liquid.

You still couldn't fully believe everything, but the fact that he was willing to risk his job for you had to count for something.

"Hey princess, you think you could take it now?"

His forehead pressed against yours, breathing in deeply as he pushed another finger in.

"Fuck...Please, I'll go mad if you don't" you cried out, tugging at his cock as you slicked it up with his precum.

He groaned, his flush tip now rubbing over your clit and your puffy lips, hissing once he began to sink you down on his length.

You gasped at the feeling of being so stretched out, the countless times you had you pussy full with your toys couldn't compare to this.

Both of his hands found purchase on your hips, slowly guiding you against his cock, slipping out and sinking back in, his small groans coming out after each thrust.

You clung to his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady as his pace picked up, the filthy sound of his dick plowing in and out of your soppy cunt filling the classroom.

"I'm gonna take you to my house after this princess, make you cum again and again, make you all nice and cozy and abuse your little hole...you kept me waiting for so long, kept this dirty little pussy all to yourself." His voice always sent shocks of pleasure through your cunt, the raspy hum his words held always making your thighs clench together.

"Oh baby you're just swallowing it all up, such a greedy little student I have...oh...look at you...you're gonna cum on my cock? I can see you shaking princess" your hand reached for your puffy clit, flicking it with the tips of your fingers in a hurry.

Your wings were violently flapping everywhere, sprawling around before wrapping around Aizawa as you came with a soft cry, clenching down on his length as he continues to push past your spasming walls, pounding you through your high as he struggled not to cum. You were gushing around his shaft, creaming over his cock and ruining his desk.

Once he couldn't hold out any longer, he pulled out, giving a few rough pumps with his fist, warm waves hitting your skin and coating your clit, dripping past your folds and sliding past your hole, your wings holding onto him tightly.

He rubbed his seed in possessively, gliding his cock along your sex before pulling your panties back in place, finally calming himself down.

He holds you by your hips for a while, kissing at your clothed shoulder and whispering praises into your ear, talking about wanting you for so long, dreaming about you, touching himself at the thought of you, praying to everything out there for a chance to hold you like this.

"Hey...didn't you say something about locking doors?" you mumbled tiredly, nuzzling your head against his cheek.

"Yeah maybe in a minute" he muttered out, kissing your forehead gently.

Thank your quirk for making you so obvious. Or maybe it was his devotion to you that made it easy for him to read you so well...

this lil commission was by @sinclairsamess, they r the sweetest little thing to exist 🥺. thank you for pointing out that I don't actual have a filthy chapter for my favourite teacher, shame on me! So as an apology I offer this soft little thingy🦋

Requests:closed

commission:open (1 slot)

Ko-fi link is in my bio💕

[gold-daegu]

yellow paint | part 16

writing below ;

You shove your phone into your back pocket, ignoring the vibrations from the group chat. Your mind was boggled and you weren't sure if you wanted to see the response Bong Gi was about to supply. A part of you already knew who she was with that night, who she may be crushing on, and you weren't all too sure how you felt about that.

Being Minho's best friend meant that you knew almost everything about him. You knew that he tends to take care of those around him, even though he doesn't bring it to attention. You knew those little stares and smiles are probably from him zoning out and apologizing with a smile, he does it fairly often.

Of course you knew that, but why do you have to reassure yourself of it?

Hearing the bell chime snapped you out of your thoughts, thankfully. Glancing up you were met with the steady gaze of Lee Minho who awkwardly shuffled over and took a seat across from you. He smiled prettily and leaned his arms on the table.

Your breath faltered and you had to look away to regain your composure. You knew Minho was nice to look at, but damn what did he do to make his hair so fluffy today? Is he wearing a lip tint?

"Took you long enough, I was about to just order for myself." You grumbled, sinking back in your seat. You trained your eyes on the edge of the table, not able to look up at him just yet.

He scoffed, swinging his leg under the table and kicking you in the shin, "Lucky you, I'm here to treat you."

"You know my order then!" You sing with a smile, nodding your head to the counter.

He grumbled and slid out of his seat, moving to the counter and waiting in line. He glanced over at you and gave you a tight smile, mouthing your order to you just to make sure of it.

You nod and shoot a thumbs up his way, chuckling when he nodded and focused back on the line.

You were sure that the workers here already knew yours and Minho's orders by heart, you two came here all the time. It was the first place the two of you checked out when you started college and it just kind of... stuck.

It was a quiet little shop with big open windows, it was always nice to come here when it's raining, watching the rain drip down the window pane. The lighting was always refreshing, the lack of artificial lights in the building always made you feel as if you were in a Pinterest café photo. The inside was plant ridden. Floral and fauna dripping over countertops and over window tops, the owner always made a joke about having only the crispiest oxygen for her customers.

The people here are always so nice, you're convinced that only those with the best vibes come here.

Minho sat your beverage in front of you, sliding in his seat once more with his own coffee in hand. He took a long sip and placed it to the side, clearing his throat and training his eyes on the table.

"About last night..." He mumbled, scratching at the table, "I just got uhm... I just get worried."

He paused, testing your reaction. When he saw you staring, inquiring him to continue, head cocked in interest.

"Chan is a fantastic guy, Y/n. I'm lucky to have such a great friend and I'm sure you love being around him, but-"

He groaned, messing his hair up and turning his head, mumbling something under his breath.

Your heart stuttered, unsure if you heard him correctly, "What did you say?"

He bit his lip, and reached across the table to grab ahold of your hands. His eyes not wavering from yours as they held a confidence to them, "I said I'm jealous."

Whoa whoa wait. Your brain just crashed and the reboot is taking forever. What does he mean by that? Like in a "you don't spend enough time with me" kind of way or in a "You paying attention to another guy makes me jealous because I like you"?

You stuttered and blinked, earning a small smile from him. He tightened his grip, using one of his fingers to tap the back of your hand.

"Hello? Did you die or something?"

Finally finding your words you mumbled, "What do you mean by jealous?"

There was a small silence between the two of you, slightly scared to hear or say what you both knew already. He smoothed over your fingers with his own, staring down at them with a new light in his eyes.

"I mean that--"

The bell chimed again and soon after came a laugh you knew all too well.

"Oh look, it's Minho and Y/n!"

yellow paint part sixteen | [prev] | [next] | [masterlist]

synopsis ; Minho has been by Y/n’s side since 3rd grade, making sure she doesn’t get herself into any trouble. But it seems like someone else wants to be by Y/n’s side too. Will he bite back his worries and tell you how he feels? Or will he watch as you fall for someone else?

pairing ; minho x fem!reader, chan x fem!reader

a/n ; yalllllll i'm so sorry for being absent, school is kicking me rn. anyway, there aren't many chapters in this left and I think I have the ending set in stone now hehe. I am thinking of starting another series though. who should the interest be?

genre ; fluff, angst, a little smut

college!au, sm!au

[somersetmummy]

(A/N): This fic takes place immediately following book 1 chapter 11 (after being rescued by Sam from Sofia's closet). 

- I promise the Robin lust that is part three is coming soon! -

Series/Pairing: The Nanny Affair (M!Sam Dalton x MC Katie Hide)

Original characters - all property of PB: Katie Hide (MC), Sam Dalton, Mason & Mickey Dalton, Jenny Blake, Robin Flores (part 3 only)

New characters: (present in part 3) Serena-Rose Warren, Tessa Finch, Lucinda Hansen

Rating/Content warning: PG13, a little bit of lust & desire but nothing graphic

Word Count: 1199

Summary: Katie prepares for a night out with the girls but is distracted by a certain roommate...

- Scroll to the bottom for bonus text message between Katie & Jenny -

Find Part One here. 

Part Two -

When Friday evening swiftly arrives, Katie tried to distract herself from the excitement building within by throwing herself into her love of cooking and creating an overly elaborate meal for the boy's dinner. While they don't particularly need a full roast dinner with all the trimmings, she's in far too good a mood to care. As is usually the norm when she cooks dinner, the boys sit at the counter half watching - half playing, keen to be around her as much as possible.

There's a certain calm which they feel when they're with her, safe and warm. They'd spent so much time bounced between family, babysitters and tutors over the last few years they relished the opportunity to be around someone so steady and secure, plus she just effortlessly understood them and knew how to put their needs first.

"Suck it Mason!"

Mickey's cheer startles her from her culinary daze as he slams down the last of the cards in his hand with vigour, winning the nail-biting game of snap the boys are playing.

"Mickey, language...please."

Katie glares at him to show that she's serious but can't completely stifle the grin underneath, threatening to give away the fact that she's humoured by the intensity of their game.

Of the twins, Mickey has always been the most energetic and animated, he rarely holds anything back and doesn't take any prisoners. Mason on the other hand is a much more sensitive soul, wise beyond his seven years and far more observant about the world around him. They're a real split of Sam's personality and a constant reminder of all the things she loves about him.

Before Mickey can apologise, the elevator dings sparking confusion in the kitchen. Katie pulls her phone out of her jeans back pocket to check the time. 5 o'clock on the dot. Equally puzzled and completely in sync with one another, the boys hold a ceasefire in their game as they all turn to look to the hallway waiting to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

Her heart flips as Sam saunters into the room, eyes sparkling and a wide smile already on his face as he takes in the scene before him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made it home this early, but something had changed recently, something which made him long to be at home, long to play with his boys, long to live a little. And then he locked eyes on that something. Katie.

"Well if it isn't my three-favourite people."

The sincerity in his voice paired with the adoring look he gives is enough to make Katie's knees go weak. The boys are clearly oblivious to the fact that his fiancé should probably be above her on his list of favourite people but in that moment she's happy to take the compliment, nonetheless.

"What are you doing home so early?"

Sam makes his way over to the kitchen, ruffling the boy’s hair before slipping casually onto the bar stool next to Mickey. The boys in return beam at him, revelling in the novelty of having two grown-ups to shower them with attention.

"You didn't think I'd forget your big night out, did you? I wanted to make sure you had plenty of time to get yourself ready without having to chase these two clowns around."

He winks at her before turning back to the boys. Mason throws Sam a look of mock offence at being labelled a clown, Mickey on the other hand smiles proudly, totally owning it.

After putting the boys to bed, Sam settles himself in the living area, pacing around unable to stay still. Nervous energy tingles through his veins as he waits impatiently for Katie to emerge, already letting his mind run away with the less than innocent images of her in his head of how she'll look when she appears.

Nothing could've prepared him for what he was about to see as she emerged like a butterfly from its cocoon, transformed.

With the wind knocked out of him, his eyes trail over her capturing every detail to recall later. He admires her delicate curves wrapped in a form fitting deep blue sequinned mini dress, so dark it almost looks black until it catches the light and a blue hue shimmers, just like when the moon hits the sea on a clear night. He immediately wishes he could trail his hands along the flimsy spaghetti straps falling gently over her shoulders, crossing over her back revealing the barely-there rear of the dress.

As she confidently flicks her golden blonde hair it smoothly drips over her shoulders like honey, long soft curls bouncing just below her breasts. Her sweeping fringe ever so slightly obscuring her intoxicating blue eyes which sparkle back at him full of conviction.

The whole look gives her an air of unfaltering confidence which he's never seen on her before. This may be the most turned on he's ever been from just looking at her, so much so that his hands seek refuge in his pockets, untrusted not to grab her at the first opportunity.

"Wow, you look incredible!" He throws her a mischievous smile and continues, "If I'd known you'd look this good I wouldn't have been so eager for you to have the night off!"

Noticing the fire in his eyes, she feels conflicted as she allows herself to imagine what might happen if she were to stay at home tonight. The air crackles between them as they hold each other's gaze a little longer than they should.

"Thank you, I'd forgotten how much I like dressing up and looking good!"

The fire in his eyes extinguishes and leaves behind warm sincerity, a small smile crosses his lips as he finally builds the courage to move closer.

"You always look good. I'm particularly fond of your jeans and t-shirt look, but yes, this look..."

Unable to finish, the fire returns to his eyes as they're drawn down to her legs which seem to go on for days, the delicate sequinned dress barely falling past her upper thighs. The intensity of his gaze thrills her.

Taking as much strength as it would to pull two magnets apart, she finally steps away to grab her purse. Ever the gentleman, Sam picks up her jacket holding it out for her. Unable to resist, he takes the opportunity to lean into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. She smells like a breath of fresh summer air, flowers and sweetness dancing in the breeze.

Her spine tingles as his lips graze her neck and his fingers gently fondling soft tendrils of her hair to move them out of the way. His whispered words make the hairs on her skin stand to attention.

"God, I wish you were mine tonight, you don't know what you're doing to me."

The indignant ring of the penthouse intercom breaks the spell they find themselves in and she begrudgingly steps away exhaling shakily.

"That'll be my cab."

He watches her sashay over to the elevator, the sway of her hips captivating him once again. Slowly she turns to face him, winking wickedly as the doors are almost closed.

"Don't wait up."

TAG list: @shewillreadyou @txemrn @silma-words @thefrenchiemama @secretaryunpaid @sfb123

- BONUS-

Messages between Katie and Jenny while Katie prepares dinner for the boys.

[phenomenal1500]

Melt The Ice In My Heart | Vikings

Chapter 4: Back To The Gods

For Chapter 3: An Arrow In The Heart click here

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

Beside that, I made some new and old friends, tried to get some new bounds with people who clearly hadn't liked my chaos back then and caught up talking with who had missed me. I never thought anybody could miss me, but clearly the two brothers and friends had sought the whole area after the story had spread.

~~~

"Uppsala!"

We all stood, while breathing heavily, on top of the mountain we were climbing and watched the beautiful temple standing on a cliff in the middle of all the bigger mountains. It was a legendary sight, all the different bird species flying around the green and yellow treetops and the way the white water dripped of the rocks, together forming an waterfall. Within a hour we were on steady ground again and had almost arrived at the temple itself. Stepping foot between the tents, I heard bells being moved so they would make sounds and I understood we had happened to be finally there, in Uppsala.

"Does he know?"

"No."

With strong steps I couldn't wait to get inside and meet the statue of the gods again. It had been so long ago I had been here for the last time, though, I also remembered it had always given me a wrong feeling, like something was pulling me back. With bravery I walked in, not caring about the wrong feeling and relaxed I stared at all the shown gods.

"Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail to Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall. Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freya, Loki and Frigg..." Blood was spotted onto my face as it had been my turn. I had always been the one sitting onto the spot with hail Freya, Loki and Frigg, no matter in what order I had been kneeling down into... and that always made me wonder why? "Hail to Hlin and Mimir. Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin's spear, Thor's hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All-... all hail."

"All hail!!"

Nodding and raising to my feet, I turned around so I could follow Ragnar, Bjorn and Athelstan.

"You know who that is, don't you?"

"Of course. This is Thor holding his hammer, Mjollnir. Who hasn't heard him beating his anvil in the storm? Who doesn't believe in mighty Thor, slayer of frost and fire?" I thought to myself he was acting way too exaggerated which made me chuckle a bit to the man ahead of me. Walking around we ended up at Odin where Bjorn first went worshipping him, then the sad Ragnar.

"Lord of lords, father, hear my prayer. Let me understand your will. Is it true that I shall have more sons like the Seer says? Accept the sacrifice I plan to offer you, and then answer me. Who will bear me my son?" After a moment of silence, pushing himself off of the statue, Ragnar silently made his way to me.

"Who shall you be praying to today?"

"Loki." Bursting into laughter he shook his head, followed by a slap on my back "Perhaps Hel.... No... to be honest, I shall seriously worship Tyr, Heimdall and Loki."

~~~

Seated next to Floki, I glared up at Ragnar who jumped in front of Bjorn and had let himself fall to his knees next to the young boy. "Can you sense the presence of the gods gathering here? They have left their bright halls to see us."

"They are here for sure." The blond man called Torstein responded to Ragnar. "They walk among us."

"And make their judgements on us." Grinning to Leif I gave him a shoulder bump, making him shoot out with his task. "And I know which of us is judged the most." Everybody stared at me and I just raised an eyebrow, afterwards smirking to everyone who was still glaring.

"So when do we offer our sacrifices?" Ragnar's attention was pulled back by his son.

"At the end of the festival."

Arne softly smiled at the little man then back at me. He had leaned against the wooden pole, but left his place to sit next to me instead.

"And in the meantime, we celebrate the gods and enjoy their presence in any way we can."

"Give Athelstan a drink." I switched my eyes to the one eyed man who had took his seat next to me with his cup filled with mead or beer, I didn't really know what it was.

"Arne."

"Njorun."

"Seems like we just finally became friends." He nodded handing me over his cup to take a sip from it.

"Never thought we would to be honest." We both cracked up again, probably because of how much we all had drank, but it was good to have another friend in the circle of my companions. I passed his cup to him and he took it from me taking another big sip. He then crawled a bit over the floor before pushing a cup into the hand of the priest, toasting with him before making him drink it. We shifted our spots to the fresh air when it was light and let ourself fall onto the ground, some were laying down, some like me were sitting onto a tree trunk and some where leaning against whatever they could find for support.

"Come join us priest."

"Drink-... drink to the nights and to the gods."

"And...uh... eat these." Shaking my head I tried to sign to Rollo it wasn't a good idea, but he completely ignored me. He too had eaten it so it didn't matter anymore.

"Athelstan, you don't have to eat it."

However, he wanted to proof himself, which I was afraid of. Raising his arm and opening his hand, he grabbed the content that was laying into the bowl and had put it between his teeth, chewing onto it.

[blancheludis]

Chapter 2 is online!

Fandom: Marvel, MCU Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, JARVIS, Natasha Romanoff Rating: T

Summary: It was supposed to be a mission without surprises, but then a building collapses on top of them and traps them underground.

Tony is hurt but doesn’t tell anyone. Steve just wants Tony to give a damn for once. And Clint, who cannot run away from their bickering since he broke his leg, just hopes they do not kill each other before they get him out of there.

(- Since the End is almost upon us, why not return to the beginning of the Avengers, when everything was still mostly beautiful and they haven’t yet hurt each other so much. Simpler times!)

It takes effort to keep his hand steady. It would not do much harm to have the line the laser cuts end up a bit wobbly, but Tony is painfully aware of Steve watching his every move with narrowed eyes. Maybe it is disbelief at what modern tech can accomplish, maybe it is simple distrust – it does not matter. Anyway, Tony has learned early on to calm the trembling in his hand, otherwise two of his favourite hobbies – being drunk and wielding a soldering iron – would have been mutually exclusive.

So his aim stays true and he cuts them a way out through the concrete. He is disappointed when his scans prove true and they are still underground, but there is light and more space to put between himself and Steve’s judgement.

“So we got out,” Steve says, utterly unimpressed, and turns back to Clint. “What now?”

Tony should let it go but he cannot help the constant irritation, thrumming along with his elevated heartrate. “Thank you, Tony, for keeping us from blowing ourselves up completely,” he remarks with sarcasm dripping from the words, trailing after Steve despite wanting nothing more than to go ahead.

“We can pat your ego later,” Steve chides, never even sparing him another glance as he kneels down beside the archer. “Think you can walk, Clint?”

Which has Tony rolling his eyes behind the safety of his faceplate. Does Steve expect Clint to hobble after them on his broken leg? For some reason, though, Clint remains patient and simply shrugs.

“If I have to,” he says, because working for SHIELD has trained all self-preservation out of him. Not that Tony is one to talk. “But I don’t know for how long.”

When Steve looks around, likely for something they can turn into a stretcher or at least crutches, Tony crouches down next to them. “I’ll carry you.”

“Sir,” JARVIS pipes up, a hint of worry in his tone, but Tony cuts him off abruptly, making sure he can only use their private channel for now.

New warnings pop up in front of his eyes, talking about stability and added weight and the estimated damage more pressure will do to his ribs. Tony dismisses all of them. Hawkeye might be heavier than he looks but what use is a metal armour that cannot carry a bit of extra baggage?

“Hop on, birdbrain,” Tony says, turning his back to the archer to give easier access. “And do try to not hit me in the face with your bow. I designed that to hurt.”

Clint at least chuckles as he pulls himself up and onto Tony’s back. It is neither elegant nor ideal since the armour does not exactly have convenient edges for someone to hold on to, but they will manage if they go slow. The whole time, Steve watches them with scepticism apparent on his face, arms half-raised as if he is just waiting for the moment Tony will let Clint fall.

“We need to get going,” Steve says, once Clint confirms his seat is more or less secure. “I doubt we’re suddenly all alone down here.”

They must look ridiculous, the robot and the archer with his splintered leg sticking out, but none of them feel like laughing. Tony turns slowly to the opening in the wall, taking a first careful step, all the while giving Clint enough time to adjust his grip.

“Why so pessimistic, Cap? Everyone else might have been crushed.”

Like they have almost been. Tony shakes his head. He truly does not want to go there. No more cave-in analogies if he wants to stay sane.

Shoulders tense, Steve walks past him, looking out through the hole in the wall, always expecting the next bout of trouble to find them.

“I usually don’t hope for buildings to wipe out people,” he then hisses quietly, causing Tony to groan. Captain Righteous naturally has to show compassion for the bad guys with a secret underground lab cooking up nasty things.

“I do,” Clint speaks up in a completely fake light tone, “when they otherwise try to kill us.”

At least one of them has sense, but Tony cannot let it go that easily. “Don’t blame Cap. All his murderous urges are reserved for Hydra and me.”

It is easier to keep talking than to concentrate on his steps. Carrying Clint does hamper his agility to the point where every movement jostles his broken bones. It is painful, but the pain will at least keep him on track.

“Silence now,” Steve orders briskly. And, with barely a glance back, he is gone, running ahead as usual.

The first hallway they find themselves in is deserted. Down here, everything is more sterile than on the upper floors. Tony notices the cameras mounted in regular intervals but is too busy with keeping upright to disturb Steve’s fixation on scouting ahead to suggest they find a computer and see what Tony can find out about their situation.

Right now, they are too loud – the suit whirring with every step, Clint’s bow clanging when it hits metal – and too exposed, walking aimlessly. If Steve hopes to just stumble over a stairwell taking them up to the surface, Tony thinks he will be severely disappointed. He is already sure that they are not underneath the original building anymore. The warehouse was big, but the hallway ahead spans a farther distance if his calculations are right – and they usually are. Still, he keeps quiet for the moment. Even he knows restraint and when he needs to stop pushing.

On their right side they pass a number of doors, each of which Steve listens at and pushes open to make sure they hold no surprises. They find machinery and dorms and store rooms but nothing out of the ordinary.

They stumble upon their first enemies a good ten minutes later: two men, both armed, one arguing with someone over his radio. So there are others. Tony thinks they should talk about this, make a plan before charging out into the open, but he holds himself back with a sigh when Steve raises a hand at them in a silent order to stay and crouches forward himself. The two guards never stand a chance. The first gets taken out by the shield – which makes too much noise when it hits a wall on its way – and Steve is on the second before he even realizes that his friend has just been taken out.

In a way, it is a piece of art to see Steve at work. The way his body moves, muscles flexing and hands reaching out instinctively, face pulled into a mask of pure concentration, not a trace of sympathy to be found. From an observer’s point of view, Tony can appreciate the flash of terror in the second guard’s eyes before he falls to the ground with a protesting gurgle, cut off when his neck snaps.

As much as Tony enjoys getting a rise out of Steve, he hopes he will never push things so far that Steve will look at him like this, impassionate and cold, with an intensity that burns through every armour.

Steve barely waits for them to catch up before he is ready to march on, new determination stitched into the line of his shoulders. It is like he needs to get out all the pent-up energy from being buried, however briefly. Captain America does not deal well with sitting around uselessly.

“Wait,” Tony calls, grateful when Steve actually stops, even though he turns around only reluctantly. “What are you doing?”

Annoyance flickers over his face. “We need to deal with whatever people are still down here,” Steve says slowly, as if explaining it to a child. “If we don’t find an easy way out, we can’t have them attacking our backs when we’re searching.”

Tony knows that. He also knows that he does not want to trail after an irate Captain America, who is put out by the fact that the mission parameters changed and turned his clean-cut operation into a mess. No one will say anything if Steve decides to wreck some punching bags once they are back home, but while they are still here they need to think more about how they want to go about this instead of just hitting everything until it stops moving.

“Have you ever thought about not barging in everywhere without a plan?”

Tony is angry, and hearing the somewhat even tone of his own voice, filtered through the armour, does not help, so he opens the faceplate to better glare at Steve who just stares back defiantly.

“We have a plan,” Steve says stubbornly. “Get out of here.”

If he did not have Clint hanging off his back, Tony would have thrown up his arms in frustration. “Great. So you want to beat up everyone in our path alone?”

Steve very much looks like he wants to do exactly that. “Last time I looked, there were at least two of us here that aren’t egocentric cowards,” he spits out.

Immediately, Tony regrets baring his face, because he is sure he cannot cover up his flinch quickly enough. Things would be so much easier if Tony truly were a coward. He would not have talked back at Howard so often. He would have kept doing exactly what Obadiah had wanted him to. Maybe Afghanistan would not have happened. But even if it had, he would have died there. And, who knows, maybe then he would have had peace, at last.

Well, he is not a coward. A great many other unpleasant things, yes, but never that.

Clint knocks on his armoured shoulder, likely in an attempt to get him to calm down. It does not help. Instead it makes Tony only more determined to not back down, to not keep running around without knowing where they have to go, expecting enemies around every corner.

“I’m not a battle horse,” he snaps. “If Clint’s going to stay on my back, I don’t know how much help I’ll be since my repulsors aren’t working quite right.” He sees the slight twitch on Steve’s face, clearly saying he is never of much use anyway, but Tony ignores it and simply goes on. “And if I put him down, one of us has to play guard dog anyway, since he can hardly run.”

Which would not be much of a problem. Tony can plant himself down like a wall to make sure nothing gets past him, but things have a tendency to explode around him and no one wants Clint to get caught in that. And Steve is all movement in battle. Forcing him to stay stationary will only dampen their effectiveness.

“Having your teammate’s back is also clearly beneath you,” Steve sneers, managing to momentarily stop all of Tony’s thoughts.

Tony almost groans in frustration, because that is not what he meant. Why does Steve always misinterpret what he says? Is it truly that hard to not always think the worst of him? Apparently yes, because nothing in Steve’s expression budges as he keeps glaring.

He feels his muscles go lax and his lips curl into a bitter, twisted thing that tries to be a smirk but falls horribly flat. “You really do think the worst of me,” Tony says quietly, almost to himself.

It surprises him, how much it still hurts. Ever since they first met all his fears of Captain America hating him have proven to be true, and still Steve manages to sneak past his defences and add to the disappointed pain amassing there since Tony was a child and still hoped for the Captain to become his friend someday.

Completely involuntarily, Tony takes a step back, unsure himself what use the motion has. It is not like he can actually go anywhere down here. For now, they are stuck together, until he can hide away in his workshop and lick his wounds.

“I’m so flattered that you’re fighting over me,” Clint pipes up, steel in his tone. “But I’m actually not, so could we please concentrate on the task at hand.”

Steve looks chagrined, making Tony glad that he cannot look at Clint, and that, in return, Clint cannot see the tightness of his own face. Because the archer is oftentimes more perceptive than people give him credit for, and all Tony wants is to wallow in his misery in private.

Before their Captain can say anything – likely an apology because everyone other than Tony gets those – Clint knocks sharply on the armour again. “What is your plan, Tony.”

It is somewhat mollifying to be asked this, no matter that Steve’s expression sours.

“We blow them to hell,” Tony answers, with heartfelt resentment.

He can already feel his fingertips tingling with the longing to create directed chaos. If he thinks about it, that is probably how Steve thinks about taking their enemies down one by one. The satisfying act of applying one’s mind and hands to get a step up. Then again, the tingling could also be nerve damage, because his arm is otherwise feeling rather numb. Still better than pain.

“What happened to no explosives?” Clint asks before Steve can, his tone much gentler, although he also lacks patience.

“We’re in a lab, right?” Tony explains, itching to get going. “It’s full of electronics. It’s a good thing then that you’ve got a tech genius at hand.” Steve radiates scepticism and even Clint is quiet, so Tony merely shakes his head. “Get me to a computer.”

It works wonderfully of course. Most of Tony’s plans do if he is allowed to follow them through. Once they find him a console and Tony’s fingers lower down on the keyboard, things start going right. For him, at least. First off, he can sit. He only notices he is out of breath once he does not have to press on; only feels the shaking of his legs once he takes the weight off them.

Clint sits in a chair to his right, settling his head onto his arms, and watches Tony work, although not with the same air of expecting failure as Steve does, who paces behind them, constantly keeping his eyes on the entrance. Tony does not remind him that he has hacked the cameras before he has even tried to get deeper into the system. No one will surprise them in here, but he guesses Steve cannot let his guard down any less than Tony can, so he does not comment on that, briefly thinking how much easier things would be if only they learned to be a little kinder with each other.

“What are you going to do?” Clint asks, purely out of interest it seems, so Tony flashes him a smile.

“Whatever I can.” He shrugs, for a moment forgetting that will only set off more pain in his shoulder.

It turns out, there is a lot he can do. With only a little bit of digging, he manages to pull up floor plans. Turns out he was right: the underground lab is much bigger than the warehouse upstairs. In fact, it spans several buildings. Unfortunately, it has few exit options.

Pulling the plans up on an extra monitor, he nods at Steve. “Look at these,” he says absentmindedly, not waiting for an answer before he turns back to his own work.

He does not miss the confused look Steve throws him, nor the short hesitation before he turns towards the monitor, but does not put in any effort to mull that over. If Steve wants to complain, they can do that later. He just thought Steve would appreciate getting a better understanding of where they are and where they have to go. Does he not always preach about strategy?

Next, Tony does simple recon. Scrolling through the cameras, he finds everyone still down here with them, adding their position to the floor plans. It adds up to twenty-three people, not all of them guards. Some are scientists, but Tony knows better than to underestimate people in lab coats. About a third of the cameras are not working, which he supposes is due to them being caught in the blast, so he strikes out the rooms on the floorplan.

He also finds their way out. It is caved in too, naturally, because nothing can ever be simple. Several people have gathered around the useless stairwell, gesturing, likely discussing how to get out. They have not yet started digging, but they do not look too distressed about it either.

Most of the others are working frantically, gathering data, collecting stacks of papers and notebooks. Where he can, Tony interrupts their tries to download from the servers, but while they are down here they should probably take care of the paper trail too. And once he is not busy scamming their signal, he should make a copy of their data to peruse later.

“All right,” Tony says once he is satisfied with his findings. He turns his chair around to face his teammates, ignoring how the movement makes him dizzy. He thinks he might be getting worse but does not dare checking with JARVIS. Surely the AI will inform him before he is about to drop unconscious – or dead.

“I suggest we go room by room,” Tony begins, pointing out a possible way along the rooms on the monitor. “I’ll start a distraction. You,” he gestures at Steve, “go in and take them out. That way Clint can stay back out of immediate danger, and we know exactly where everyone is at any time. Little room for surprises.”

Tony is ready to go into more detail, because he thinks this is a good plan, one they should not dismiss just because it is him who proposed it. He does not accuse Steve of being petty, but most of their arguments start because Tony has his own mind.

To his surprise, Steve just nods. “Let’s go for the ones we can take out quietly first. Keep the large group for last.”

It is almost fun; could be fun, if it were not for the fact that Tony is hurting all over and there is still no blue sky above him. But they work perfectly together. Tony waits until Steve is in position then does his special brand of mayhem: he sends high-pitched noises through loudspeakers loud enough to put the inhabitants of a room momentarily out of commission; he has machines clattering and throwing up panicked alarms; he hacks into the comms; he has consoles throwing sparks. Whenever he gives the word, Steve goes in. Watching on the grizzly screens is not as beautiful as the real thing, but he still gets to unabashedly watch Steve in action. Clint’s face of increasing disbelief is just a bonus. Really, they should see what he can do when he is not in pain and has time to spare.

Steve even comes back to them before tackling the large group, although Tony was half-certain he would simply plough on. It is better this way, since Tony is sure that a bit of adrenaline is just the right thing to keep him on his feet for a bit longer.

They must make for a hilarious picture: Captain America slightly ruffled but with anger burning in his eyes, a limping Iron Man with more dents than unblemished metal, and Hawkeye on his back, wielding his bow with a vengeance, barely hindered by being carried around. So, despite barging in without bothering with any secrecy, they have the element of surprise. The guards are looking at them slack-jawed before they truly realize what is happening. The fight is over almost as soon as it has begun, leaving them without enemies and still no way out.

Clint laughs as he slides down Tony’s back to the ground, poking one of the downed guards with his bow for good measure. Tony, in turn, staggers because of the sudden loss of weight.

“Everything all right?” Clint asks, noticing how unsteady Tony is.

Keeping his right arm very still, Tony waves him off. “Just missing a little victory drink,” he quips, wishing for something to numb the pounding of his head.

Unfortunately, they have talked loud enough to alert Steve, who has gone off to examine the rubble-blocked stairwell. His face morphs from worry into unmitigated anger. He takes in the shakiness of Tony’s legs and how he seemingly cannot quite keep upright.

“Are you having withdrawal symptoms?” Steve asks incredulously.

Tony cannot actually blame him for coming to this conclusion, because, yes, he does drink a lot, more again since Pepper left him, and one look into any newspaper paints an ugly picture of his unreliable ways. But he has tried to never let his vices interfere with Avenger business. He even implemented a security protocol that prevents him from navigating the suit while drunk. Tony is capable of learning from his mistakes, thank you very much. But of course no one gives him the benefit of the doubt.

“Nah,” he drawls lazily, steading himself against a wall, not caring how it looks. “The suit is prepared for that.”

If anything, Steve’s face turns more disgusted. “You’ve got alcohol with you?”

“Always be ready for a party.” They cannot know that, but he quotes his mother here. Maria, who was responsible of the ungrateful task of keeping up the Stark family’s reputation, who taught him how to make an impression. Because even a bad impression is better than going completely unnoticed.

Thanks, mum, Tony thinks as he watches Steve’s opinion of him sink even lower. He huffs in resignation and turns to inspect the cave-in as well, if only to avert his face so he does not have to see the look Steve and Clint are undoubtedly sharing right now. For good measure, he closes the faceplate again. He can always blame that on having to do more scanning.

This team thing has turned out harder than he has expected it to. Most of the time it is going well. They have regular slumber parties, watch movies and have food fights. That almost feels like family, like something he has been wishing for even before he realized that Howard’s opinion of him would never change. It is nice to stumble out of his workshop, pleasantly exhausted, and find someone in the kitchen to share a word or two with, who prepares coffee when they see him coming. The fighting, too, is a surprisingly coordinated thing. They just fit, and he never knew he missed having someone watching his back until they started deflecting bullets intended for him.

It is the moments in between that are difficult. All of them are damaged in their own way. Worse, they are all used to go on anyway, to pretend everything is fine. Settling into trust is not easy, especially not when one was taught to depend only on oneself.

So, Tony knows he is not the most compatible being. Social niceties usually fly right over his head. But for all his trying to be better, he sometimes sees it clearly in Steve’s eyes that he will never get there.

“Well, we won’t be getting out this way,” Tony mutters, staring at the results of his scanning. Digging here would just bring more and more rubble down on them. And he has had enough of that.

It takes a while for the other two to react, but Tony still does not turn around. He is giving them space, just like Rhodey does with him when he is in an explosive mood. It usually works, since Tony burns bright but quickly. Captain America, on the other hand, can simmer and hold a grudge for years if someone insulted his delicate sense of right and wrong, Tony is sure of that.

“Maybe we should just wait here until they break through from the outside,” Clint finally speaks, tone carefully neutral. Tony still whirls around as if he has been showered with more accusations. “Nat’s out there, she’ll get us out. And it lowers the chances of us making everything worse by digging blindly.”

Inwardly, Tony curses. What Clint is saying makes sense, but in an unacceptable way. Tony is not actually in a position where he can sit around idly, waiting to be rescued. At some point during the short fight, his vision has stopped clearing when he remains still, and he feels the kind of exhaustion tugging at his mind that has him fearing he will fall unconscious sooner rather than later. It is only the suit and decades’ worth of experience with stumbling around drunk that keeps him standing at all.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Tony quips, infusing humour in the hopes to cover the sharpness of the words. The voice modulator, at least, does not translate the slight trembling, so it could be interpreted as dismissive instead of an almost-plea.

“Must be buried around here somewhere,” Clint answers dryly. He leans back lazily against the wall but there is no mistaking his tiredness. He is pale and sweating and holds his broken leg gingerly.

“I’m with Clint,” Steve says, surprising no one. “I can make a sweep to see whether I can find something helpful, but we shouldn’t make things worse.”

He stands stoically to the side, close enough to Clint in case the archer needs assistance, but with a telling distance between him and Tony. Not that Tony is particularly unhappy about that. The more irritated Steve is with him, the lesser are the chances of him looking too closely and seeing something Tony does not want him to see.

Despite himself, Tony says, “You shouldn’t go alone.”

He has checked the cameras and they have taken out everyone he has found. But this is a secret underground lab, there are bound to be surprises. And while Steve is more than able to take care of himself, Tony does not want him wandering off alone. There is also the small concern that Tony does not know how much longer he will be able to defend Clint and himself if it comes to that.

“Do you suggest we leave Clint defenceless?” Steve’s voice turns scathing, and for a short moment Tony just wishes he could tell the truth, that their concerns align. “He is hurt.”

Tony wants to shout back I am too, but he does not because that would not change anything and he does not want Steve to think of him as even more of a liability. All they need is to get out of here. Everything else will fall into place. It usually does.

“I’ve got a broken leg,” Clint points out, annoyed at being discussed as a problem. “That doesn’t make me the damsel in distress here.”

No, Tony thinks, given a little more time that will be him. But he sees the wary line of Clint’s back and is, momentarily, ashamed. Steve and his bickering is thoroughly unfair on the archer, on top of him being all but immobile and in pain. But so is Tony, and he does not have the energy of keeping upright and thinking of a way out of here, while also keeping the peace with Steve.

Accentuated by the panicked red blinking of the HUD and the constant ring of warnings, all of Steve’s words and looks and twitches become more unbearable by the minute. Tony knows he is found lacking in the Captain’s eyes. But, well, he is lacking in his own too, but he is trying. He really is. And all he wants now is to go back to the surface so he can see the sky before he passes out. Or, preferably, not pass out at all until he is safely out of sight in his workshop, where he is not vulnerable. But there is not denying that he is fading quickly.

“JARVIS,” Tony says in the privacy of the suit. “We got another dose for the pain?”

It is not the smartest thing to do, dosing himself. Especially since the pain keeps him somewhat grounded in reality, but it also slows his mind. More so than the morphine does.

“Your breathing is already –” JARVIS naturally tries to argue, but Tony does not have the patience for fights on every front.

“I know,” he interrupts his AI not very gently. “Rib meet lung. Not ideal. But if I pass out and stop breathing, you are welcome to initiate countermeasures.”

By which he means for JARVIS to administer naloxone, to counteract the respiratory depressive morphine. He is not naïve enough, however, to believe that JARVIS does not take this as permission to finally alert someone to his battered state of health. Tony swallows and deliberately does not contradict him. Despite his self-neglecting behaviour, he really has no desire to die in what could just as well be a re-enactment of that cave in Afghanistan. With a significantly less amount of water, although Steve’s constant doubts are their own kind of torture.

“Just a bit, J,” Tony sighs, wondering for the umpteenth time why he has given his machines and lab assistants the ability to talk back. “We need to get out of here and I won’t be of any help if I can’t think.”

JARVIS is the one person who knows Tony best. One might argue that this does not mean much, since his grasp on human emotions is still rather tenuous, but he has grown so much since he first came online, surpassing even Tony’s wildest dreams. Where Tony is still wont to shut out Pepper and Rhodey, JARVIS has seen so many of his lows, has picked him up and given him something to hold onto, even if it is only the voice of his old family butler. He trusts JARVIS, and not just because loyalty to him is an integral part of his code. He likes to think they have grown beyond that.

Moments later, Tony feels the prick of a needle – a feature he has built in early on, when his heart used to give him more trouble, which could prove fatal in battle. Incidentally, he has not told anyone about it, knowing neither of his friends or teammates would approve of his portable med bay.

The morphine helps, if only minimally. It is mostly just the thought that he has done something to keep him going. It does not do anything against the crushing weight of Steve’s balled disapproval meeting him when he looks up again.

Tony sighs, still inaudible to the two men with him. What has he missed now? Yes, he has tuned them out for a moment there mostly because it is all but impossible to concentrate on more than one thing at once at the moment – which is truly ridiculous, considering how his brain usually works – but it was his turn in the argument, yes? And surely Steve appreciates his silence more than whatever snarky answer he would have given otherwise.

“Let’s keep going,” Tony says, as much to them as it is an order to his own body. Don’t fail me just yet.

He starts to make his way over to Clint to pick him up again, but Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him. He does not feel the contact through the suit, but it is nonetheless jarring. Everything Steve does is when it is directed at him.

“We haven’t yet decided whether we should go on,” Steve bites out between clenched teeth, glaring.

Any other time, Tony might have laughed. This would not be the first time that Tony continued an argument within his own head only to think it resolved when he emerged. Steve has never appreciated that.

“Cap,” he sighs, drawing out the name like a prayer. “We’re in an underground lab filled with unknown machines and substances, and a building just fell on it. There’s no guarantee, but there could be an unwanted reaction – chemical leak, explosion, whatever. I just don’t want to be down here for it.”

He is likely exaggerating, but no amount of arguing will move Captain America if he has made up his mind, so Tony has to introduce new variables. For all he knows there could have been something volatile caught in the blast in some of the collapsed rooms, even though he did not find anything immediately alarming when he went through the surveillance cameras. So it is not a lie. Just an embellishment to heighten his chances to get out of here.

Rather stoically, Steve stares first past Tony’s shoulder then right at him before he jerks his head in what must be a nod, because he turns around and starts walking, leaving Tony to gather up Clint and scramble after him.

“You shouldn’t push him so much,” Clint says quietly while he climbs back onto Tony’s back.

“Someone has to,” Tony answers cheerfully, glad that no one can see his grimace. Half of their arguments are not actually voluntarily on his part, although everyone expects by now that they have just fallen into the habit of shouting each other as a valid means of communication. But Tony wants to get along with Steve, still carries that childhood wish in his heart to prove his father wrong. It is just not very likely that it will ever happen.