#theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[takadasaiko]

Last tag line

Tagged by the fantastic @strivia ! Sorry for being so slow on this 😅

Rules: Post the last sentence you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

And that was how Edwin Jarvis found himself standing at Ms Carter’s door, simultaneously desperate to keep Mr Stark’s private business exactly how he was expected to keep it - private - and with the acute knowledge that if this weren’t a coincidence, Ms Carter would be their best chance at discretion and safe execution of what needed to be done.

And that would be waaaaay too many people, so let’s just tag a few:

@intrepidmare @theherothechampiontheinquisitor @ice-whisper @alyblacklist @everythingremainsconnected @gffa @jedimordsith @weaponizedwit @zebsfloppyears and anyone else that would like to join in!

#last line tag #last line challenge #edwin jarvis #Peggy Carter #Howard stark #agent carter

[shipperqueen93]

The Death of Her

So awhile ago I wrote a teacher/student fic and left you guys hanging. Well it may have taken 7 years but I finally have the next part. Special shout out to @ishtarelisheba who beta’d this and @standbyyourmantis and @theherothechampiontheinquisitor for listening to me bitch about this for the last month and half.

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Belle stared at the page in front of her, trying to take in the words that were there, but like the five other times she had read them, she understood nothing. It’s not that she couldn’t actually understand what was there. Cameron’s first year students weren’t exactly geniuses; most of them just used the class as a way to get their required history credit and then promptly forget everything they had learned. Still, despite the ease of the reading, she wasn’t able to take in anything that she was reading. 

With a sigh, she tossed the ungraded paper back onto the library table and ran her hands through her hair. Damn Cameron Gold was all that was on her mind. She had been back for two weeks now and, with the exception of her initial visit to his office upon her return, she had barely seen him. Normally, she’d spend her time between classes in his office and would usually stay there well after her classes ended, but these last few weeks, she found the office locked. While the office being locked wasn’t entirely odd, the lack of light and no answer to her knocks was. She even tried visiting him during his office hours, knowing that rarely anyone ever attended them besides herself, but every time she showed up, he was busy talking with some miserable looking student. For some reason, Cameron was avoiding her, and she hadn’t a clue why. 

Things had been fine before she had gotten sick. She spent more time with Cameron than she did at home or with her friends, but ever since she came back, he was practically avoiding her. Their one conversation of any length had been the day she came back. She had visited his office to speak to him about her grade on her latest paper for his Medieval European Culture class. With nothing else to do while sick, she had put more time and effort than she usually did into that paper, and even had Professor Drago review it before she submitted it. She knew that paper was an A-level paper, even by Cameron’s strict grading parameters, which was why she was surprised when she received notification that she had only scored a B. 

Now, she wasn’t so full of herself that she didn’t think she was above the occasional slip in grade, but she knew her paper was better than that, so when she was finally clear to return to campus, she had made visiting Cam her first stop. Her visit was purely professional. It had nothing to do with how much she had missed seeing him in the month she was gone. She had shown up during his office hours and had been surprised to find his door shut. Not many students ever came to his office hours, after all. He liked to claim that only the truly desperate came to see him. She would always remind him she came to see him quite often. He never had a smart quip for that. Despite this, it wasn’t impossible that someone had come to visit him, so she had knocked on the door. It took several more knocks before he called out for her to come in, though she heard him mumbling something when she called his name. 

After a month away, Cameron Gold had been a welcome sight - one she was happy to drink in, but was surprised to see him not in his usual state. His well-tailored suit had been rumpled, his hair looked like it had been raked through one too many times, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was supporting what looked like about two days worth of stubble. She hadn’t been sure what to expect when she came to see him, but it hadn’t been this. It looked like he was the one who had been sick for the last month, not her. When she tried to joke that he looked like hell, he had barely acknowledged her, simply motioning for her to take a seat. 

What followed was the most awkward and stilted conversation since their very first one in this same office. She had barely mentioned her paper before he was waving it off, excusing it as a mistake and changing her grade to an A. She had honestly expected more of a fight. Cameron had never been one to easily admit he had made a mistake, and when she had teased him about falling apart without her, he didn’t even give her one of his practiced glares. Every attempt to draw him into conversation ended with one- or two-word responses, and eventually, she gave up and claimed she had to go see Professor Drago just to escape the awkwardness. 

She had thought maybe he just had a bad day or wasn’t feeling well, and that was why he had suddenly been so withdrawn and stilted. She was sure by the time she saw him next that things would be back to normal. She was wrong. It had been two weeks since she’d come back and he was absolutely avoiding her. Sure, she saw him in class and her advisory meetings, but it wasn’t the same as before she was sick. Gone was the man who would talk to her for hours and teased her for her guilty pleasure of trashy romance novels. 

“You’re an English major, dearie. Shouldn’t you be reading Jane Eyre, Jane Austen, or one of those other literary Janes?” 

Instead, he kept to their designated times, citing meetings that she knew he didn’t have. Twice he had claimed to have a lunch meeting with Professor Jones, whom she knew he couldn’t stand and avoided at all costs. So either he was avoiding her or he had suddenly become chummy with his well known adversary. 

Yeah, he was avoiding her. 

A chime from her phone startled her from her thoughts, alerting her to a message from Ruby. “Studying at Mulan’s, be home late. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. ;)” 

Belle rolled her eyes. That was hardly a long list. Ruby was her best friend, but they couldn’t be more different. Ruby came across as your classic wild child. Most people didn’t look past the surface and were shocked when they found out how intelligent and hard working she was. Yes, she loved to go out, drink, go to frat parties, and hook up with whoever caught her eye that night, but she didn’t get this far into her master’s because she could out drink half the football team. 

If she was honest, even Belle herself sometimes wondered how Ruby managed both an active social life and high marks in her studies. As a double major, most of Belle’s free time was spent either studying, writing, or grading papers. The only reason she knew the last time she had gone out was because the result of it was her coming down with mono. A month and a half ago, Mulan had invited Ruby and Belle to a fundraiser that her girlfriend Aurora’s sorority was hosting. Belle hadn’t planned on going, but Ruby had promised free drinks and food, and so she had agreed to come along. 

The event itself had been fun. They were raising money for the local women’s shelter with a cornhole tournament. Belle herself didn’t see the big appeal of the game, but Ruby enjoyed it and had entered in the tournament with Mulan. She spent most of the time sipping wine and listening to Ruby trash talk the other teams, occasionally chatting with Will Scarlet, who was there because his girlfriend Anastasia was the sorority president. Will was a good guy - a bit thick, sometimes, but he was friendly and was completely devoted to Ana, so she always felt comfortable around him. 

By the time evening rolled around, Ana had pulled Will away to help her do something. Belle was ready to go home, but Ruby and Mulan had made it to the finals of the tournament. Since Ruby was the one driving, though, Belle had been stuck waiting until the tournament was over. She had eventually found a relatively quiet part of the yard and pulled out her phone to read the new book she had borrowed. She had been several chapters in, enjoying it and her wine, when someone bumped into her, causing her wine to spill down her blouse and skirt. Her indignant squeak changed into a weary sigh when she looked up and saw that the perpetrator was none other than Greg Aston. 

She had known Greg since they were in high school, back when he was captain of the football team and she had been…well, the same as she was now, except in high school. His father and hers were poker buddies, and so she ended up forced to spend more time with him than she’d have otherwise chosen. She had hoped that she would see less of him after high school since he had never been academically inclined, but as her luck would have it, he managed to get an athletic scholarship to Storybrooke University. More frustrating was that he had somehow gotten the idea in his head - and she had a pretty good idea of who planted the seed - that they were meant to be together. The fact that they had nothing in common and she had never been anything more than polite towards him did nothing to dissuade him, either. All of this had ramped up tenfold since her father passed away the year previously. On more than one occasion, he had told her that with her father gone, she needed some other man to “take care of her.” Part of the reason she kept away from parties and social events was to avoid him, so she was less than thrilled to find him there. 

Greg had put on a decent show of apologizing, but she saw the way his eyes had kept darting to her wet shirt and how it had clung to her. He had tried to insist on letting him take her home, under the guise of getting her into something dry, but she clearly saw through to his true intention. Thankfully, Ruby had saved her from having to turn him down by choosing that moment to show up, wrapping her arms around Belle’s neck and yelling about how she and Mulan had won. Mulan had followed behind, her arm wrapped around Aurora’s waist, looking at Greg with a wary expression. Greg, for his part, had only seemed momentarily put off before declaring that Ruby and Mulan’s win meant they needed a drink to celebrate. Belle had wanted to protest, but he was off before she could say anything. 

While he had been getting drinks for all of them, Ruby chatted about the last match, giving a play-by-play analysis with the occasional input from Mulan. Belle hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, and too soon, Greg came back with drinks for all of them. The cup hadn’t seemed suspicious at the time, and even if the whiskey he had chosen wasn’t her preferred drink, there wasn’t anything that suggested that she shouldn’t drink it. It wasn’t until after the toast, when Aurora asked Greg where he found the cups - since Ana had mentioned to her just before they came over that she was sending Will on a run to the local StarMart to get more - that he informed them that since he couldn’t find the cups, he had just used some lying around near the drinks. 

A few days after the party, Belle had started to feel ill. When she finally went to the doctor, she was diagnosed with mono. 

Ruby was still teasing her about that. “Only you could go to a party and come home with mono, not by kissing anyone, but because you drank from someone else’s cup.” 

Not that there had been any opportunity for her to get mono in the traditional way. She didn’t even remember the last time she had been on a date, let alone gotten far enough along on one that mono could even become a factor. It certainly hadn’t been since she started her master’s. She spent most of her time at the university, either in class or studying. As she told Ruby over and over again, she didn’t have time to date, and even if she did, the person she wanted was not an option.

Belle knew herself, she knew who it was she wanted, and she knew it was never going to happen. Belle was a romantic, but she wasn’t delusional. Cameron Gold would never look twice at her. Not in that way. She had developed an academic crush on him back while she was still in high school, and it had turned into a full blown infatuation once she actually got to know him. Sure, he was a stubborn, pain in the ass, know-it-all who hated to admit he was wrong, but over the years, she also learned he was fair, kind, devoted, and had a wicked sense of humor. He had been a right ass when she first visited his office, all but accusing her of trying to sleep her way to a good grade, and when she lost her temper, she was sure he was going to have her tossed out before her first day was even over. Instead, he had made room in one of his more advanced classes, and she knew then and there that she was in trouble. 

She lost count of the number of hours they had spent together in his office talking about everything from his work to her life in Australia, and with every conversation, her infatuation had grown. When Dean Mills had shut down Granny Lucas’ diner on campus, she had seen all that coming to an end. Between her loans and her work at Granny’s, she had barely been scraping by as it was. There was no way she could manage to pursue her master’s without it. She had gone to Cameron, not sure exactly why, except that she knew she had to see him, if only to say goodbye. 

It was long after his office hours, but she knew from experience that he tended to stay late, so she wasn’t surprised when she saw lights on in his office. She had meant to knock - even if she was here nearly every day, she still had manners - but that all went out the window when she got there. 

Cameron had been looking through one of his bookshelves. He had looked up when she burst in, and before she had really thought about what she was doing, she had thrown herself at him. It was as if her body had a mind of its own, and she didn’t even realize she was crying, soaking the fine silk of his shirt, until his arms came around her. She didn’t know how long they stood like that, but eventually her tears subsided, and she let Cameron lead her to his desk and sit her down. 

Back when she had first started making regular appearances in his office, she made a teasing comment about him having chosen the most uncomfortable chair possible for his students as a way to get them out of the office as quickly as possible. His silence after the fact hinted that she probably wasn’t far from the truth. However, the next time she came to the office, there was a new chair similar to his own. When she questioned him about it, he had claimed it was the new department standard and the school had provided them, but she spent enough time with Professor Drago to know that wasn’t true. 

Cameron had made a pot of her favorite tea - a berry white tea that she knew he didn’t favor but still kept on hand for her. They were on their second cup of tea, and she had noticed he was using the cup she had chipped on her first visit to his office, when he finally got her to open up about what had her in tears. She had started to feel embarrassed by her actions, but she mumbled out the story of the diner’s closing and how it meant she wouldn’t be able to continue her studies. Cameron had been quiet during the whole story, sitting back in his chair and absentmindedly tracing the rim of his teacup. When she finished, he had excused himself, telling her not to go anywhere and stating that he’d be right back. 

While he was gone, she walked around the office, memorizing all the little details. Over the years she had spent in the office with him, Cameron had told her the story of his acquisition of most of the objects he displayed. There was the gauntlet with symbols representing power over weakness he’d acquired from an antiques dealer a few years ago in England, a fob watch he purchased from a charity auction held by the estate of Lewis Carroll, and a sand dollar he picked up on a beach in Denmark - these were just a few of the treasures he kept here. She knew he kept a bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk while he kept his collection of teas in the cabinet behind the desk. On one of the bookshelves, there was a bag of makeup and toiletries that Professor Drago kept there, Cameron having long given up the fight of removing it. There were more books than there was room on the bookshelves, and so they were in piles around the room. Despite the seeming disorder, she knew he had a system for them, even if that system made little sense to anyone but him and, to some extent, her. 

She had been sinking into her own little pity party when Cameron came striding back into the room carrying a packet of paper. He had sat down at the desk and handed her the papers with a small smile. “Mrs. French, on behalf of Dean Mills, we would like to offer you a position as a teacher’s aide here in the history department, specifically under my supervision.”

Belle smiled at the memory. She still didn’t know what exactly had prompted him to take her on as an assistant, but she was grateful. If she was being honest with herself, that had been when she knew she was in love with him. She had known she had feelings for him since shortly after she actually met him, but after that moment was different. Though she knew he’d deny it, she knew that he had gone to bat for her in front of Dean Mills. He had never taken on a teacher's assistant, as far as she was aware, but he had gone out of his way to offer her the position. That had to mean he felt something towards her, right? She liked to believe so. It helped assuage any guilt she felt when she found her pleasure with the imagined sound of a Scottish brogue whispering in her ears. And if she imagined stripping him out of those tailored suits when they were alone in his office, then it didn’t hurt anyone? 

Who was she kidding? She hadn’t thought anyone had noticed her desire until Ruby had commented on it when she was stuck at home. Even though she had tried to play it off as if Ruby was grasping at straws, it was clear her friend didn’t buy it. If Ruby had noticed it, then Cameron easily could have. No wonder he was avoiding her. He probably thought her a creep, or worse, thought she was exactly what she denied in the beginning of their friendship - a woman who couldn’t make it on her own merit and had to resort to sleeping her way to the top. She didn’t know which would be worse, him avoiding her forever or him thinking the worst of her. She worked her ass off to be seen as a serious academic. She couldn’t bear it if that was tarnished because she couldn’t keep her heart out of her eyes when it came to looking at him. Maybe she should go to Professor Drago and ask to be changed to her supervision. At least any thoughts that she was trading sex for grades would be put to an end. 

The sound of a clock chiming eleven broke her out of her spiral, surprising her by how late it had gotten. She could have sworn the last time she had checked the time that it was only quarter to nine. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time she had gotten caught up in her thoughts and lost track of time. Technically, the library had closed at ten. This was one of the smaller university libraries and wasn’t open as late as some of the larger ones, but one of the library aides, Astrid, had given her a copy of the key after the third time she caught Belle wrapped up in some paper or research, having lost track of time. Belle tried not to make a habit of staying late, usually letting herself be shooed away by whichever aide happened to be working that night, but if Astrid was the one working the closing shift, usually she didn’t even bother Belle. She hadn’t seen Astrid when she came to the library after her last class of the day, but then again, she had come straight back to her favorite study corner to work on grading papers and her own work. 

Glaring at the papers in front of her as if they were responsible for all her current problems, she briefly considered going home and leaving the papers until her free period between classes tomorrow, but then remembered she was supposed to meet with Professor Midas during that time. Heaving a sigh, she resolved to at least finish grading the papers. That way, she could say she accomplished something. 

By the time she finished grading, the clock had already chimed midnight, and she could feel the beginning of a headache forming. She really needed to have a talk with Cameron about having students turn their papers in electronically. He was the only one of her teachers that still had his students turn in physical copies, and it made grading them a pain in the ass, in comparison. But that was a conversation for tomorrow. All she wanted to do now was go back to her apartment and enjoy a glass of wine before passing out. 

As she was packing away the graded papers, she considered leaving the books she had pulled for the morning shift to put away, but in the end, her conscience got the better of her. Cursing herself for not taking the books back sooner, she gathered them up and started retracing her earlier steps. She was so focused on making sure she put the books back in the correct places, she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until she turned around and saw Cameron leaning against one of the bookshelves. Startled, the remaining books tumbled to the ground, and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk cross his face. 

“Damn it, Cameron! What are you still doing here?” She didn’t hide the irritation in her voice. Her heart was going a mile a minute, bastard was going to be the death of her. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Miss French? The library is closed, after all.” His voice was annoyingly smug.

She was still ‘Miss French,’ then. Before this recent coldness between them, she had been just Belle, or on the rare occasion, ‘dear.’ Well, two could play that game. 

Gathering up the books she dropped, she tried to put the same distance in her voice that he’d been utilizing as of late. “I was grading papers for your European history class. Guess I lost track of time. I figured I’d put away my books and head home. Doesn’t answer why you’re here, Professor Gold.”

She thought she might have seen the smallest of flinches at his proper title, but he snarked back like it was nothing. “I have a key Miss French.”

Well, so did she, but Belle wasn’t going to mention that. She didn’t think he would care, but she wasn’t going to risk Astrid getting into trouble on the off chance he decided to pursue it. “Well, let me put these away and I’ll be out of way, Professor Gold. You’ve been so busy lately, I’d hate to take up your time.” 

She saw the dig hit him by the thinning of his lips, and she hated that their relationship had turned into this. Before this, he had been her closest friend outside of Ruby. She had told him nearly everything. And now they were sniping at each other. She hated this. She hated that she couldn’t even hate him because she loved him, and she hated it. He could ignore her for the last two weeks, and she still couldn’t help the flutter she felt when she saw him. Stupid man in his stupid suits. It didn’t escape her notice that they were matching, either. His suit was his usual black, the shirt a dark green that was only a few shades off the green of her blouse. Her black skirt and cardigan just tied it all together. 

A few months ago, she would have made a quip about it. He would have made one back, and they would have shared a matching smirk, and now she just wanted to hit him. Given that she still had an armful of books, she decided the best course of action was to get away from him before she chucked one at his stupid head. She pushed past him and tried to ignore the sound of his cane tapping against the floor as he followed her. Two weeks of ignoring and avoiding her, and now, suddenly, he decided to follow her. She was shelving her final book when he leaned against the shelf next to her. 

“Can I help you, Professor Gold?” She was tired and just wanted to go home but apparently he wanted to talk now. 

“I wanted to talk to you about your next class.” That stupid smug tone was still in his voice.

Belle dropped her head against the bookcase and wished she had thrown a book at him. “Really, Gold? It's late.” 

“Miss French, you are the one who chose to stay at the library after it closed.”

“I told you, I lost track of time. I’m trying to go home.”

“Really, dearie, I’d think you’d show some more commitment.” 

Belle spun around, hating the smirk on his face. “Do NOT call me that! You don’t call me that. You call Regina that. You call that creep Professor Jones that. You call your freshman students who can’t tell the difference between the Industrious and Industrial Revolutions that. You don’t call me that.”

That smirk grew as if her anger amused him, and knowing the man, it probably did. Of course, that just made her madder. He leaned in even closer, and she could smell the sandalwood from the cologne he wore. 

“And what should I call you then dear-”

Belle didn’t think as she bridged that gap between them and kissed him. She didn’t consider the fact that this could be the end of her education, if things didn’t go how she planned, or that if this went really bad, she could be looking at sexual assault. No, she didn’t think of anything but shutting him up. However, once her lips were on his, she couldn’t help but think. What was she doing? She was kissing her professor, the head of the department and the man she was helplessly in love with. What the fuck was she doing? 

She went to pull back, mind already scrambling to come up with some excuse for her massive stupidity, when his hands came up to cup her face, and then he was kissing her back. He was kissing her back! Hesitantly, her hands slid up his chest before sliding up into his hair. It was as soft as she thought, and she used it to pull him closer. He nipped at her bottom lip and took advantage of her gasp to deepen the kiss. The kiss wasn’t soft and gentle like she had imagined so many times. It was all teeth clashing and fingers gripping each other. 

He pushed her back against the bookcase and broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against hers. “You are full of surprises, dearie.” 

He kissed her again, swallowing her protest, so she tugged hard at his hair, earning a small grunt. When he pulled away the second time, he trailed kisses along her jaw to her ear, nipping at the lobe before kissing just below it. 

“Should I stop, Miss French?” The words were spoken against her neck, sending a shiver through her. 

He slowly slid his hands up her waist, fingers ghosting along her ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake and pushing up her blouse as he went. He went torturously slow, drawing out each sweep of teasing fingers. Combined with his tongue swirling over her pulse point, she was trembling under his hands. He was going to be the death of her, at this rate. When he brushed the underside of her breasts, a jolt went through her, and she couldn't help the gasp pulled from her. At the sound, he pulled back and looked at her, that stupid smug grin still there, but she could see the desire in his eyes. 

“No!” Her response was almost too quick.

She could feel him smirk against her neck, but he didn’t stop, which was fine with her. She didn’t know how he had gone from avoiding her to his hands slipping under her blouse while he kissed down the curve of her neck, but she wasn’t going to stop him.The rasp of his day's growth of stubble was sending her nerves into overdrive. Her world narrowed down to where his lips met her neck and the occasional scrape of his teeth. She was going to have marks tomorrow, and she could already hear Ruby's crowing, but at the moment, she couldn’t care, as long as he didn’t stop. 

When he spoke, his accent was thicker and voice rough, belying his calm exterior. “Should I stop, Belle?”

She shook her head and untangled her hands from his hair to help him pull her blouse and sweater off, tossing them somewhere to the side to be worried about later. Standing there in her plain cotton bra, she had a momentary flash of self consciousness, but it was quickly banished by the hungry gleam in Cameron’s eyes as he took her in. He traced a finger over her collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake, down her chest and over the tops of her breasts. 

She expected him to push aside the cups of her bra or even reach behind her and unsnap it, but in true Cameron Gold fashion, he subverted her expectations. He trailed a line between her breasts and hooked his finger under the gore, using it to pull her across the scant few inches separating them till she was once again pressed fully against him. She could feel him hard against her belly and she was delighted to find she wasn’t the only affected here. 

Cameron leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You left me for a month, and for that I’m going to make you scream, little Belle.” 

It was on her tongue to tell him that she hadn’t left voluntarily and ask if that’s why he had been so distant since she came back. It was lost, however, when he placed a kiss to the center of her chest at the same time he tweaked her nipple through the cotton of her bra, turning her thoughts to mush. He gave her no chance to recover as he finally pushed the cup aside and took the abused nipple into his mouth. His goal seemingly in mind now, he reached around to unsnap her bra, letting it fall down between them before cupping her unoccupied breast. Belle had always been slightly self-conscious of her small breasts, but with Cameron’s full attention focused on her, those thoughts went out the window. 

The combination of his mouth with its delicious suction and his fingers tugging and tweaking at her nipples had desire pooling in her core. Each scrape of his teeth was like a shot of electricity, and he quickly had her gasping and arching into him. Needing some sort of tether as he drove her higher and higher, she gripped his shoulder hard enough that she was sure she was leaving marks even through the material of his jacket and shirt, but this only seemed to egg him on even more. The things this man could do with his tongue and fingers were pure sin, and he seemed intent on having her burn up with him. He was going to be the death of her for sure. 

When she was reaching the point that she thought she might climax from this stimulation alone, he withdrew, drawing an aggravated cry from her. “Are you kidding me, Cam?!”

He chuckled darkly - God, that shouldn’t be so damn attractive - and placed a kiss to the center of her chest. “Patience, Belle.” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him where he could shove his stupid patience, but then he was on his knees and his hands were sliding up her thighs. Suddenly, all thoughts were gone, and her focus was pulled to his fingers slipping under the fabric of her skirt and inching it up slowly. The tiny, rational part that was left of her brain was screaming at her that she was in the library in nothing but her skirt, which was pushed up around her waist, and her panties while her professor was on his knees in front of her. Someone could walk in on them at any moment, but she couldn’t care less, especially as Cameron started placing kisses up her inner thighs. 

Inch by torturous inch, he drove her wild while his thumbs brushed back and forth along the crease of her hip, occasionally dipping just under the edge of her panties. It seemed like it took both forever, and just mere seconds before he reached her center and with agonizing gentleness, he placed a kiss right over the evidence of her desire, drawing a strangled cry from her. He looked up at her so she could see him lick his lips, and damn him, that was more attractive than she expected, the smug bastard. 

When he placed another, much too gentle kiss to her clit, followed by finally licking up the center of her, she couldn’t help the way she cried, “Cam!”

He smirked up at her. “Should I stop, sweetheart?”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she snarled back, gripping his shoulder again so he couldn’t move.

His answering chuckle was full of dark promises. “Very well, dearie.”

Before she could call him out for calling her that again, he had pushed her panties aside and his mouth was on her. Dear God, this man’s tongue should be illegal. He alternated between quick, fluttering flicks over her clit and long, slow licks up the length of her. He guided one of her legs up over his shoulder, spreading her wider for him, and continued to work her into a frenzy. His moans as he drank her down rumbled through her and drew out her own cries as he circled her clit with his tongue.

When he added his fingers to the mix, slipping first one then a second into her, she damn near lost her balance. She would have taken them both down, had Cameron not pressed her back into the bookshelf. She ended up holding on to the shelf behind her with one hand while the other carded through his hair again. Her hips worked in tandem with his fingers, rocking against his mouth as he worked her closer and closer to her peak. He must have known she was close, because he seemed to double his efforts, fingers curling inside her as he pumped them in and out of her, the slick sound loud in the quiet of the library. She was gripping his hair so tightly it must have been painful, but he didn’t seem to mind. It seemed to urge him on. 

The pressure inside her was building to a boiling point, and when he scraped his teeth along her clit, she lost herself to it. She came with a cry of his name and felt as he removed his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, pushing up into her and drinking down her bliss. When she stopped seeing stars, she found Cameron with a look that could only be described as smug male satisfaction, and she couldn't blame him for it this time. Had he not been holding her up through her climax, she probably would have collapsed on him. While men liked to joke about making girls weak in the knees, she doubted he’d have liked it if she had fallen on him. 

His mouth and face were glistening with her juices, and damn if that wasn’t enough to make her want him again. As if he could read her thoughts, he swiped his thumb over his bottom lip before bringing it into his mouth and sucking her taste off of it with a hum of pleasure. Damn him, he was going to be the death of her. 

“You’re killing me, Cam.”

His answering chuckle was pure sin. “Sweetheart, I’ve only just begun.” 

He got to his feet much faster than a man with a bad ankle should be able to and cupped her face, tilting her up and seizing her mouth in a desperate kiss. While their previous kisses had been frantic and desperate, there was a new intensity now. Before, he had kissed her like they might never have a second chance. Now he kissed her like he wanted to take his time consuming her. She could taste herself on him, could smell her arousal on his fingers as they cupped her face, holding her close to him. 

He pressed her back into the bookcase and she knew she was going to have bruises in the morning, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. She could feel him hard and straining against the fine wool of his pants, and she realized she was practically nude while he was still fully dressed. She shoved at his suit jacket and he let go of her long enough to let her remove it and his waistcoat, letting them fall to the floor before returning to her. She managed to get his tie off without issue but found it hard to focus on the buttons of his shirt while he was kissing her. When she couldn’t quickly get them undone, she scraped her nails over his nipples through the silk of his shirt, earning a hiss from him. 

“Belle…” His earlier amusement had transitioned to warning. 

She repeated the action, pulling another hiss and groan from him. She wasn’t surprised when he grabbed her wrists, stilling her hands. “What’s wrong, Cam? Can’t take what you dish out?”

“You are playing with fire, Miss French.”

It was her turn to smirk up at him. “I’m not afraid of a little heat.” 

She expected a witty comeback, a verbal sparring match like they had engaged in previously. She did not expect for him to spin her around and bend her over so that she had to grip the bookcase to avoid falling over. 

Cameron was there behind her, pushing her legs apart with one of his own, leaning down to speak in her ear. “I want to fuck you, Belle. I want to slide into that sweet cunt and fuck you until you come. I want to hear you scream my name as I bring you to that edge. I want to bring you there again and again, until you are begging for mercy. I want to bury myself in you, I want to come deep in you.”

He was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it. Every filthy, whispered word went right to her core and she found herself rocking against Cameron’s leg, trying to get any sort of friction where she needed it. 

She protested when Cameron stilled her hips. “Cam…”

“Tell me to stop, Belle. Tell me to stop, and we’ll pretend this never happened. Tell me to stop, Belle.”

“No!” The last thing she wanted was to stop and pretend this never happened. She didn’t know what had prompted this change in both of them, but didn’t want to go back to how things were before. Even if they only had this one moment, she wanted it. “Don’t stop.”

There was a pause, and for a second, she thought he was going to stop regardless of what she said, but then he placed a kiss right below her ear. “Hold on.”

She gripped the shelf in front of her, holding onto it the best she could, practically vibrating with want. She could hear the subtle clink of his belt being unbuckled and the rasp of a zipper, and it was taking all of her restraint to keep from telling him to hurry up. She had dreamt about this so many times that she was afraid that if this didn’t happen now, it never would. She didn’t know if she could go back to how things were before. She was tired of pretending. 

She felt his hands on her hips then, thumbs slipping under the waistband of her panties and slowly sliding them down till she could step out of them, and then he was there. With one hand on her hip, he reached between her legs to tease her once more. His fingers teased her entrance, just barely dipping in only to slip out and spread the fluid he found up to circle her clit. He did this again and again, until she was once again a panting, writhing mess under his fingers. 

“Cam, please!” 

“Please, what? What do you want, sweet Belle?” 

She couldn’t see him without looking over her shoulder, but she knew he was smirking again. “You know what, you bas-”

The rest was cut off as he thrust into her suddenly, the feel of it enough to send her toppling over the edge once again. She distantly heard him curse as her body convulsed and shockwaves of pleasure went through her. Her breath came in pants as she came down off that high, and for the second time that night, she was glad Cameron was there to keep her from falling, because even holding onto the shelf wasn’t enough to keep her standing. The hand on her hip was drawing gentle circles and she used it to focus herself. He was holding himself perfectly still, and she knew it must be killing him, but he waited until she gave him the okay before he started moving.

God, he felt incredible, stretching and filling her, the angle letting her take him deep. He started with slow, rocking thrusts, sliding almost completely out before plunging back in. She clung to the bookshelf as he quickened his pace, the sound of flesh hitting flesh sounding obscenely loud in the quiet of the library. She was never going to be able to come back here without thinking of this moment, but this was worth any future embarrassments. 

She could feel the fast rising tension in him from the way his pace quickened and how the hand on her hip tightened. The hand between her legs once again found her clit and started with those same toe-curling circles. He was absolutely going to be the death of her. 

He pushed hair off her sweaty neck, pressing a kiss to her pulse point before whispering in her ear, “You feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking tight and wet. You’re so close, aren’t you, Belle? Come for me, Belle. Belle, come for me. Belle…Belle…Belle…”

“Belle!”

With a cry of surprise, Belle jerked awake, her heart pounding in her chest. She was still in the library, the clock chiming alerting her to the fact it was two a.m., and Leroy, one of the night security guards, was peering down at her. Belle looked around for any sign of Cameron, but all she saw were the papers she had been grading earlier in the night and books she had pulled for her research. 

“What happened?” Her voice came out groggier than she expected, indicating that she probably had been asleep longer than she thought. 

“I came to do a walkthrough and found you passed out there, sister. You were mumbling in your sleep, something about death. I thought you might be having a bad dream. Figured better to wake you up. Plus you’d probably be more comfortable elsewhere.” Leroy gave her a nudge. 

Belle knew this was his way of essentially kicking her out. After all, this wasn’t the first time Leroy had found her here after close. Had she been anyone else, she was sure he’d have kicked them out and reported them, but she knew he had a crush on Astrid, so when she had told him that Astrid was the one who gave her the key, he simply told her to run along home. 

“Thanks, Leroy. I’ll head out.” She gathered up her stuff, deciding to leave her books for the morning crew, and let Leroy lead her out. When they passed the aisle she’d been in with Cam in her dream, she paused. God, it had been such a vivid dream.

“Everything okay, sister?” Leroy asked when he noticed she had stopped. 

Belle sighed. She didn’t know how she was going to go back to normal after this. One thing was clear, however. Cameron Gold was going to be the death of her. 

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #ouat

[katebishopofearth]

So, I've been thinking of TonyNat prompts to send you and this popped up on a prompt list for "Meet Ugly" instead of "Meet Cute" and it def has IronWidow vibes lol “You were chased by the cops, got in my car and just yelled ‘Drive!’” AU

Sorry this took so long! Hope you like it :)

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

This was not how Tony anticipated his first mission to go. It was Steve’s fault, really. “Go on,” he said, “you’ll be fine,” he said, “just take the wallet from his back pocket,” he said. “With your cute little face and those big brown eyes no one’s gonna suspect you.”

Fast forward ten minutes and Tony was being chased through Manhattan by an entire army of cops and probably the actual army, too. He ran past shocked tourists and annoyed businessmen and tutting old ladies. His sneakers pounded the sidewalk, the guy’s wallet clutched in one hand . He should probably drop it but he didn’t have the strength to loosen his hand. If he dropped it there would be absolutely nothing left for him. No respect from Steve, no chance to be on more missions, no place in the gang.  

He was a hacker, he wasn’t cut out for this stuff. What kind of bullshit reason was it anyway, that he had to prove himself by picking pockets? He had to prove his worth before he could meet the elusive leader. Kind of anachronistic, but fine, he could deal with that. But wasn’t it enough that he could hack into any computer or system? That he could move freaking satellites? Why was pick-pocketing part of this insane hazing ritual?  

He could wonder and rant about how unfair it all was all day, but the cops were still on his tail and he was heading straight into the middle of the road. He would be run over by a truck or smash into the side of a shiny Tesla or –

Dive into the open passenger seat door of an unassuming black sedan.

The redhead in the driver’s seat almost leapt out of the car in shock. But Tony screeched “DRIVE!” slamming the door shut behind him. She caught sight of the cops hot on his tail and, without hesitation, merged into the stream of traffic.

Tony was panting, his heart almost jumping out of his chest. His hand still gripping the brown leather wallet that was his trophy from this goddamned adventure.  

“Who the hell are you?” His driver-slash-savior demanded. “And what did you do?”

He flipped the wallet open – driver’s licence, a handful of tens, a couple of expired coupons at some fancy schmancy fake-classy restaurant, and about fifty thousand coins. This was what he almost got killed for? “Fuck’s sake, Cap,” he groaned.

“What the fuck are you doing in my car?” The redhead pressed. Her voice was surprisingly steady – if angry – for someone who had a stranger barrel into her car. “Who are you? Why’re the cops after you?” She paused to look at him, taking her eyes off the road for as long as she could while driving. They were startlingly green, and seemed to pierce Tony to the spot. “Did you kill someone?”  

“Calm down,” Tony grumbled. “All I did was pick a pocket.”

“Not a very good thief, are you?” the redhead snarked. Tony glared at her. She was about his age, but she had the composure of someone much wiser. An old soul, so to speak. He couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Hey, it’s my first time,” Tony said defensively. “And I’m not cut out to be a pickpocket. Clearly.”

She snorted to hide a laugh, but she couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth tugging up into a smirk. “So who are you, then, the Artful Dodger?”

“If I told you who I was?” He winked. “I’d have to kill you.”

The redhead rolled her eyes. “Wow, does that line work?”  

“Only some of the time.”

[Keep reading on AO3]

#tonynat #ironwidow #tony stark #natasha romanoff #marvel #tonynat fanfic #ironwidow fanfic #lizzy writes #fanfic #prompts #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[presidentrhodes]

How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“ 

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up." 

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city. 

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it." 

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero. 

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet. 

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—" 

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla."  The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker." 

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain." 

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof. 

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids. 

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids. 

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too. 

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath. 

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months. 

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying." 

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?" 

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles. 

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman." 

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.   

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.  

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human. 

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one." 

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J." 

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine. 

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks. 

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise. 

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—" 

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow. 

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…" 

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence. 

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?" 

"He really needs that psych eval." 

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body. 

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive. 

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband." 

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams. 

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage. 

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx. 

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late. 

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out. 

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign. 

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door. 

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?" 

Natasha kicks him under the table. 

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?" 

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date." 

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team." 

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim." 

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures." 

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today." 

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?" 

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium. 

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity. 

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it. 

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[whumphoarder]

I know you normally rec Peter whump but do you know any good Iron Dad Tony whump or just Tony whump in general? Quarantine has me burning through fic like crazy 😂

the stars the moon they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark) by @madasthesea​

It starts off with his vision fading in and out.

What kind of demon drug can make someone go blind by inhaling a single lungful? Whatever it is, Tony doubts it’s reversible. And while Peter’s no idiot, he can be idiotically optimistic. He's determined to fix what appears to be unfixable.

Damn, Mr. Stark. You're screwed. by peter_parkr

Tony tries to bake Pepper a birthday cake and enlists Peter's help. It ends with one (1) very confused teenager as well as twelve (12) stitches in his hand.

Bust a gut, Tones by @whimsicalethnographies​

(Tony gets extremely sick before his wedding and Peter Stresses Out™)

An Unwanted Christmas Gift by @whimsicalethnographies

Tony Stark hates Christmas, Peter and Pepper love Christmas, May has to work, and everyone gets norovirus.

Leave out all the Rest by @xxx-cat-xxx​

(An extremely heartbeaking and bittersweet portrayal of Tony with a brain tumor and the people he loves dealing with it)

settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time by @xxx-cat-xxx

Tony is down with the flu, so Rhodey helps out by looking after Morgan (and her dad).

Head Above Water by sahiya

(Peter takes care of both Tony and Morgan, who are down with the flu, while Pepper is away on business)

Three-Day Migraine by sahiya

Tony has a serious migraine and suffers alone for a while. Then Peter helps.

In the Company of Friends by @darkestsight​

Tony wakes up feeling like crap and finds himself longing for the time he lived alone and it was a lot easier to get a simple cup of coffee.

Cold, Comfort by @twentyghosts

When Peter returns to the Avengers Compound over fall break, he brings the common cold with him. Tony knows what to do for a cold: just keep working through the misery. But Bruce and Pepper have weird other ideas, like "sleeping" and "eating homemade soup."

Numb by MCUsic_to_my_ears

After the Snap, Tony gets phantom pain.

Too Much Fun by @awesomesockes

After another reckless night of substance abuse and partying, Happy finds his boss in a bad state.

(Pre-series, set in early 2000s)

And then a few of mine:

Keeping Company by @xxx-cat-xxx & @whumphoarder

While attempting to look after his migraine-riddled mentor, Peter manages to injure himself badly enough to need Tony’s help.

Down to the Wire by @awesomesockes & @whumphoarder

There are a lot of contenders in the running for Worst Night of Tony Stark’s Life™, but the night he comes down with a stomach bug—less than two weeks after his broken jaw is wired shut—might just take the cake. 

Emergency Contact by @whumphoarder

It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.

Five Times Bruce Banner is Not That Kind of Doctor™ + One Time He’s Perfect For the Job by @awesomesockes & @whumphoarder

Bruce Banner is not a medical doctor.

Granted, he has seven various advanced degrees—ranging in topics from radio and nuclear physics to biochemistry—and he is widely considered one of the brightest minds of his time, but aside from basic first aid, he has no formal medical training. He’s just not that kind of doctor.

Except for when he needs to be.

#tony stark whump #hurt tony stark #sick tony stark #fic rec #rec list #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[sarcastictonystark]

It’s been a lot of change in a year. All the physical stuff sucks, sure, but at least that’s managed. I thought stepping back would be easy but now that I have to it’s a huge pain in the ass.

#theherothechampiontheinquisitor #Tony Stark #Marvel #Avengers #Endgame #Ask Tony Stark

[youngbugandtonystank]

Thank you for your well thought out and rational answers to the anons you've had. It's so refreshing and while not condoning anything, explains it in a rational manner and you include receipts when needed. Just thank you. This situation has me exhausted.

Thank you♥ 

It is exhausting. I’m hoping things get better from now on. 

This means a lot, so thank you♥

#robert downey jr #tom holland #marvel #mcu #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[friendly-neighborhood-exchange]

Hello, just needed quick clarification. Do we wait to post our stories to tumblr until our fic is revealed on AO3 since it wouldn't be able to be seen until then? Or do we just post on reveal day on tumblr and they can read it on AO3 too after it has been revealed? Not sure if that made sense but I hope so. Lol

I get what you’re saying. But yes, we’d like you to post on Ao3 to the collection on the 25th AND post to Tumblr on the 25th. Then, once your fic is revealed on Ao3, we will also reblog it on the exchange, effectively featuring everyone’s stories at different times. Hope that helps!

#mod answers #the friendly neighborhood exchange #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[robertdowneyjjr]

In regards to that very important scene you just gif'd from The Judge, can we all thank Susan Downey for allowing scenes like this to exist? And also there's a reason she became pregnant around this filming time and it's on full display right here 😂😂😂

honestly i’m so grateful for susan downey’s existence on this earth for so many reasons and allowing her husband to be thotty af in his movies is just one of them.

#she's a goddess #susan downey #theherothechampiontheinquisitor #ask

[littlemissagrafina]

27, 36, 39 for the handwriting ask :)

Lemme just say that I absolutely love 12.16.1991! I haven't been able to catch up on the last few chapters yet but I definitely will this weekend!

Your writing is amazing and if I one day can have even half the amount of skill and talent as you do in my own writing then I can die happy ;)

#Agrafina Answers Awesome People #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[woodelf68]

Tagged!

Spell out your url using song titles, then tag as many people as you want.

I was tagged by @theherothechampiontheinquisitor. 

W - Who Are You by the Who

O - Of Honest Malt Liquor by Magpie Lane (trad. English)

O - Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seger

D - Daniel by Elton John

E - Europa and the Pirate Twins by Thomas Dolby

L - Lady by Styx

F - Flamethrower by the J. Gells Band

6 - Six O’Clock by The Lovin’ Spoonful

8 - Eight Days A Week by The Beatles

#tag yourself if you wanna do it #tagged! #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

[takadasaiko]

Last Line Tag

Tagged by the fantastic @illegalcerebral

Rules: Share the last line you added to your WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

I actually have two that I've had open recently. Of course, A Flicker of Light:

If her Master already knew, then there was no reason to betray Luke’s trust, but if he didn’t… 

The other is a several year old neglected Wynonna Earp oneshot that I had forgotten about and started poking at again:

 “Now where were we?” she asked suggestively and Robert leaned up, catching her in a kiss and she squeaked a laugh as she fell back down to his pillow with him. 

So I'm just going to tag a random number of people lol

@exlibrisfangirl @jedimordsith @intrepidmare @seleneisrising @everythingremainsconnected @intricatecakes @strivia @paintedmagpie @farmboy1 @twinsoulvisionary @myevilmouse @alyblacklist @theherothechampiontheinquisitor and anyone else that would like to join in!

#writing #last sentence meme #Star Wars fanfiction #Wynonna Earp fanfiction

[shipperqueen93]

Me and @theherothechampiontheinquisitor have been reunited.

[katebishopofearth]

33. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it. For Iron Widow 😁😁😁

Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long, hope you like it!

Send me ironwidow requests from the list here Completed prompts here

33. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it. [Find it on AO3]

Portals, Tony Stark decided, were illegal.

He hadn’t liked portals since he flew through one carrying a missile to the other side of the universe. Didn’t appreciate them haunting his nightmares and the edges of his consciousness. But he did not hate them until this moment – when his girlfriend disappeared into one.

The portal was meant to cast the alien soldiers and the alien soldiers alone onto a desolated, disintegrating planet. One moment thousands of metal bodies were pulled from the field and sucked into the portal, the next one of them grabbed Natasha pulled her in with them. Tony screamed her name and dived towards her. But he was too slow, too far away. Thor reacted at the same time, flying though the portal just as it collapsed on itself.

Tony crash-landed on the ground where the portal to space had been seconds ago. The Iron Man suit opened up and he fell out of it and sank into the tall grass.

The sun slanted gentle golden rays over the New England field. All was still, without even a breeze to stir the stalks of wheat and grass. There was nothing to suggest that moments ago, this had been ground zero for a fight against an extraterrestrial troop. Nothing to suggest that moments ago, they were six Avengers instead of four.

His brain felt like it had short-circuited and he was trying to reboot it. It took him a while – no more than a second or two in real time but it felt like an eternity because of how his mind always raced overtime – to register the yelling.

“NATASHA!" Clint raged, kicking at the grass. “Open it, goddammit”

Tony’s mind whirled back into action, a million miles per second. He thought of Natasha in some remote corner of the universe. No suit, no oxygen. Was there a breathable atmosphere on that planet? Her skin rapidly cooling as the air left her lungs. Her last moments before she lost consciousness cold and lonely. Tony knew that a normal human could survive in space for a minute. Natasha, with her enhanced biology, could last for a little longer. Probably not much. There was no decomposition in space – her body would remain on that distant planet forever, until it was swallowed by its sun or –

“Can you open it again?” Steve’s question brought Tony crashing back down to Earth. It was directed at Jane Foster. The astrophysicist was the reason they could open a portal and send the alien army back into the outskirts of space.

She was already entering commands into a device as she answered. “Working as fast as I can, Cap.” She turned to Tony and Bruce and rattled off a string of things to check and prep. Like Tony, Bruce was only just regaining his composure. But the instructions helped both of them pull themselves together. Jane was the most level-headed of the three scientists, and only her hurried movements betrayed her anxiety as she tapped rapidly at the screen of the device.

Tony forced himself to snap out of it. Being in a daze was the last thing that would help bring Natasha back. Every second he was numbed with shock was a second wasted on their precious window for rescue. He took a deep breath to gather himself before he approached the console at which Jane and Bruce were working. Bruce gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze but did not say anything. There was nothing he could say that was more comforting or more useful than putting all his energy and focus into the task at hand.

It took two and a half minutes – the longest 150 seconds of Tony’s life – to reopen the portal. The blue edges fizzed, and out of the shimmering, space-deep centre, stepped Thor and Natasha. An arm around each other’s waist, electricity crackling around them, lightning in Thor’s eyes.

Tony barely registered that the cry came from his own mouth. He ran towards them, Jane right behind him. Pulled Natasha into his arms and crashed his lips against hers. A shot of electricity sent him recoiling with a yelp. It was only with years of being Iron Man that he didn’t stumble and fall on his behind. Natasha made a surprised sound. Remnants of lightning sparking across her bodysuit and skin. Thor’s booming laugh sounded over the field. In Jane’s arms, his eyes were back to their usual shade of blue, not the electric glow earlier.

Clint jogged up and hugged Natasha. He flinched at the electric shock but didn’t let go. The two spies swayed in their embrace and he lifted her slightly off the ground. “Nat, you lucky bastard,” he mumbled before he set her back down on her feet. “How was space?"

“Awful.” she deadpanned. “Would not recommend."

“Good,” Steve interjected. “No one is allowed to do that ever again.” Despite his stern words, his tone was warm, revealing his concern for his teammates. “Especially you, Romanoff.”

“Not to mention that I’d be all your boyfriend has left, and I’m a pretty poor substitute,” Bruce added.

Natasha began to make a snarky comment, but she stopped mid-word when her eyes landed on Tony.  

“He’s right, honey, I don’t think my poor heart can handle that one more time.”

Natasha’s expression softened the slightest bit. “Okay,” she agreed. “No more impromptu space trips.”

“Good.” Tony said firmly. He reached for her again, feeling relief only when her body fit against his and her arms wound around his neck. The contact of his bare skin against hers still gave him a small electric shock, but this time nothing could make him let go of her. He cradled the back of her head in his hand, nuzzling his nose into her cheek. He made a mental note to add extra oxygen supply to her suit and everyone else’s.

Sparks still danced on her lips when he kissed her again, giving him a light zap.

“Um, Jane?” He asked, “How long does the electricity thing last for?”

“A while.” Mischief danced in Jane’s eyes.

“Oh, and Thor?” Tony said. Thor stopped and looked back at him. “Thank you.” There was more gratitude in his voice than he could express in those two words, but Thor understood.

He gave a single nod. “I’m not losing any of my brothers or sisters-in-arms, if I can help it.”

He wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist and the scientist returned the gesture. They walked away, probably to find a quiet part of the field for a moment of their own.

“Have fun with the electricity thing,” Jane called over her shoulder.

Tony almost choked but Natasha chuckled. “Oh, you bet we will.”

Clint wolf whistled and Steve groaned and covered his ears, muttering about kids these days.

“Guys, give me a hand to pack up?” Bruce said. Tactfully he led the rest of the team back towards their equipment and away from the couple.

But as their teammates trod across the field, Tony only had eyes for Natasha. Looking at her now, with the setting sun turning her hair red-gold and giving her skin a light glow, she was so very warm and breathing and alive. It was only now that the tightness around his chest relaxed and he could breathe. “You really scared me, baby,” he admitted in a whisper, pulling her forehead to rest against his. The light zap from her skin, just shy of painful, grounded him to her.

“I’m sorry.” Her reply was in a low tone that matched his.

“I’m serious, Nat. No more near-death experiences for a while.”

“Okay,” she promised, giving him a quick kiss. A tingle passed from her lips to his.

Tony chuckled. “This lightning thing is… something, huh?” He sensed rather than saw her smirk. “You are literally sizzling.”

Natasha groaned at the bad pun, but Tony continued. “You gave me quite a shock when you came back all zappy, but right now I’m just struck by how gorgeous you are. And it’s honestly kinda en-lightning –“

“Stop!” Natasha laughed.

“Okay, okay, you’re right.” Tony forced himself to sober up. “After near-death experiences I really should conduct myself better – ”

She cut him off with a kiss. Tony was more than happy to comply. As the sun sank below the horizon, sparks flew between them in more ways than one.

[AO3]

#thank you for requesting 😭 #theherothechampiontheinquisitor #asks #requests #prompts #ironwidow fanfic #tonynat fanfic #tonynat #ironwidow #tony stark #natasha romanoff #marvel #marvel fanfic #my writing #lizzy writes

[silverdaddyrdj]

It is time to rise from the ashes and bring us back that silver daddy content that we were so viciously robbed of.

we’re too upset to even function right now but maybe tomorrow 😔

#theherothechampiontheinquisitor #ask

[emospritelet]

Happy birthday Sprite! ❤❤❤🎈

Thanks darling xxx

#personal #theherothechampiontheinquisitor