Day 01: Canonize That!
Fanart you think should be canon
Kicking off this year's Cap-IM Rec Week (thank you @cap-ironman for organizing it), it's time to rec some fanart! And boy oh boy, do I have a lot of things I wish we could have seen on the big screen or in the comics. So here we go:
This, because the fact that we didn't get this in Endgame is a crime:
💬 14 🔁 3077 ❤️ 9033
This, because in my mind this is them sleeping in the same bed at Clint's, and I need it personally:
💬 4 🔁 294 ❤️ 1079 · After a fight
This, because Steve and Tony need some private time at the lake house:
💬 0 🔁 112 ❤️ 379 · It'd be so nice, right? Right?
If we could take it all off and just exist
And skinny dip in water under the bridge
Ste
This, because if they HAD to kill off Tony and Steve, they deserved to share a kiss first:
💬 1 🔁 49 ❤️ 147 · Don't Look, I Think We Made The Sun Cry
Drew this for the POTS Reverse Trope Bingo 2024, fill for square Y5: Last Kiss,
This, because I want Tony to be a part of CA:TWS and rescue Steve from the Potomac:
💬 0 🔁 855 ❤️ 2097 · The last time
This, because the Tattoo AU is canon, and you're not going to convince me otherwise:
💬 16 🔁 704 ❤️ 2088 · Happy Pride!
prints are now available in my shop ⚡ pineapplebread.bigcartel.com
This, because it's peak mom-and-dad dynamic Stony:
💬 3 🔁 275 ❤️ 1410 · Oh, look, Mom and Dad are at it again. Poor Clint...
This, because we've been robbed of the romantic hug-and-fly:
💬 1 🔁 717 ❤️ 1558 · 2021/04/20
This, because the fact that Marvel 1872 isn't a centaur AU bugs me every day:
💬 0 🔁 22 ❤️ 105 · A picture for the "You gave me a Stocking" event! Prompted by @willidothefandango , who wanted centaur sherrif Steve wit
This, because it's one of the cutest representations of Avengers Family I've ever seen:
💬 27 🔁 10850 ❤️ 17434 · all of the avengers are t-shirt-stealing gremlins 😤
Learning that the vigilante Iron Man was Tony Stark had really put a wrench in SHIELD's plans. The general idea had been to somehow sway Iron Man onto their side, get him to work with them. Natasha had even muttered that blackmail had been on the table after a particularly large Stark property was razed to the ground. When his identity had been revealed in battle, even Fury had looked shocked.
Steve had come to realize Tony Stark was not a man who could be leveraged. He had more money than God, could charm the right politicians, and had the military in the palm of his hand as they hoped for more Stark weapons someday. As a last-ditch effort, Steve had asked for a meeting with him to see if they couldn't come to some sort of agreement. It was dangerous for Iron Man to continue being a vigilante. With SHIELD, he would have some sort of protection. And he'd realized, watching Tony tap away at his phone, clearly only having accepted the meeting to see if they'd come, they had nothing he wanted.
"We could leak your identity to the media," Natasha had started with, and Tony had laughed, genuine mirth in his eyes as he asked, "Who would believe you?" And Steve had to admit, until the golden mask had been blown off and he'd seen Tony's bruised face underneath, he wouldn't have believed it himself.
"The insurance companies covering the damages of your blown up buildings might have something to say," Bruce had added, looking vaguely pained, and then had looked nauseous when Tony had replied, "I own the buildings. I don't put in claims." A quick text from Maria Hill confirmed that an agent had checked and it was true. Tony never made an insurance claim on any of the buildings that Iron Man damaged or destroyed.
"What if we started rumors that made Stark Industries stock tank?" Clint asked, genuinely curious, and Tony had simply clasped his hands on the table, smile friendly, even as he delivered a warning, "My CEO, Virginia Potts, might have something to say about people trying to mess with the stock market." Natasha had looked genuinely (if quietly) terrified at the invocation of Ms. Potts' name, so Steve took that to mean that getting on the wrong side of the business itself was the worst out of the three ideas.
"You have nothing I want," Tony continued, laughing, and spread his hands, gesturing at the room around him. "I'm set. I'm weeding out the weapons my ex-manager dealt under the table on property that I own without trying to make any money from insurance. No one has been hurt. In fact, Iron Man attacks when the buildings are mysteriously empty. You can hardly say I'm endangering anyone. Any other fights I get into, I make sure I don't attack first."
"You're good at goading people," Steve muttered under his breath, and grit his teeth as Tony just laughed again.
"And! I'm already contracted at SHIELD as a contractor," Tony added, crossing his arms over his chest smugly. "And Pepper has the terms of my contract ready for when you try to make me step one toe outside of it. She has been chomping at the bit to get back at you ever since she realized they'd sent an undercover agent into our company."
"...I thought Pepper liked me," Natasha said after a moment.
Tony gave a somewhat sympathetic shrug. "She's petty. It's not you she's mad at, just SHIELD as a whole. Well," he added before anyone else could say anything, looking at his watch. "Your ten minutes are up. Bye!"
"Seriously!?" Steve sputtered as Tony bounced out of his seat and began strutting out of the room. He found himself shoving his own chair back and standing.
"Steve, he's got us," Natasha sighed, but Steve ignored her. He'd dealt with Howard. He could figure out how to deal with Tony.
Steve followed Tony out of the room, lengthening his stride to catch up. Tony wasn't running, but he was clearly in a hurry, still checking his watch and looking around as he made his way toward the elevator to his private quarters where it was waiting, doors opened. Tony spared him an annoyed glance as he turned to face him, but Steve threw himself into the elevator before he could close the doors on him. He opened his mouth to say he'd known Tony's father.
"JARVIS, penthouse," Tony cut in flatly, and to his embarrassment, Steve tumbled onto the floor when the elevator jerked violently upward, as if on purpose.
"Ow," he wheezed, pushing himself up off the floor.
"Serves you right, Captain Trespass," Tony said, unimpressed. "And you will leave my penthouse after I do, or I'm having JARVIS treat you like an intruder and shooting you."
Steve sucked in a deep breath, then managed, "It's rude to outstay your welcome."
"And yet! Here you are," Tony huffed, raising an eyebrow at him. "I don't know what you expect to say. Natasha and Bruce dealt your strongest cards, and I've trumped them." He paused briefly, then added, "And don't try to bring up my old man. He's not the in you think he is. In fact, you're lucky I didn't punch you in your perfect teeth the moment I saw you."
Steve frowned, but before he could say anything or ask what that meant, the elevator slowed to a stop, and Tony was out the doors before they were even opened all the way. He lunged out after him before whatever JARVIS was could lock him inside and take him back down. He needed to figure out a way to get Tony to join them.
"There must be something SHIELD can do for you," Steve tried, stumbling after him as he walked toward the landing pad outside. "I can convince them. Just try me."
"I can get whatever I want," Tony sighed, turning to walk backwards so he could give Steve the full benefit of his rolled eyes. "I can buy it, or bribe for it, or even just hack in myself. Just face the facts, Steve. I'm not joining your stupid secret boy band."
Steve didn't know what that meant, because he hadn't gotten to boy bands on his list, but he understood the gist. "There's always something," he began, even though he was starting to understand that Tony was leagues ahead of him in arguments. He had an answer for everything. Steve couldn't expect to outwit him until he did some reading up on Tony and Stark Industries as a whole. "I have a lot of pull. Just try me."
Tony came to a stop and scowled at him. "Yeah? Then you better drop to your knees and bark like you want it."
Steve blinked, mouth dropping open slightly as he took the words in. He saw the corner of Tony's mouth twitch, and he knew immediately it was because he was ready to smirk in victory. He thought he'd won. Captain America would never go down on his knees, too proud, too powerful.
The last thing Steve found himself wanting was to give Tony that satisfaction, so he immediately dropped to his knees, jaw set. "How's this?" he growled, glaring up at him.
To his surprise, Tony froze where he was, mouth dropped open to gape at him. It was better than the smirk he'd almost given him, Steve figured grimly, but it wasn't giving 'I'll at least think about it' vibes like he'd hoped. Then he noticed that Tony's cheeks were quickly filling with color. He looked... embarrassed? Scared? Mortified seemed the only correct term. Steve blinked up at him, surprised. He'd read enough about Tony Stark to know that he was... quite experienced, he decided. But Steve had managed to catch him off guard. He felt... powerful, for a moment. Victorious.
Tony must have noticed, because he rallied quickly, turning on his heel to stomp toward the landing pad. "JARVIS, remove Captain Creep from the premises," he barked, even though Steve could see that his ears were now turning pink, and he couldn't help but grin viciously even as he stood and backed his way toward the elevator. This was something he could work with.
.-.
The next time Tony showed up at SHIELD for a contractors meeting, Steve managed to get himself assigned as his escort to the conference room. Tony started talking as soon as he saw him, apparently not willing to give him a moment to speak. He was going to try and ignore what had happened and his response to it. Steve swallowed back his urge to smirk as he paused to open the door for him.
"Well, good talking to you, hope to never see you again," Tony added as he moved to step through.
Steve leaned in so his lips almost brushed Tony's ear and murmured, "Woof." Then he pulled back, grinning, as he watched Tony's face flood with heat. He turned and left before Tony could gather his wits and punch him in the teeth like he'd warned him he should have.
I cannot emphasize enough "Steve was SO normal about his attraction to Tony Stark until Tony told him to bark." Steve has carefully kept that part of himself locked down tight because 1) it's impolite and 2) why would Tony Stark ever want him right? And he's a contrarian so of course when Tony expects him to storm off in a huff because obviously he has too much pride to get on his knees and beg it is SO EASY for him to do the opposite. And then to his surprise Tony blushes and runs away and it unlocks the persistence hunter in him because suddenly there is a chance that Tony Stark From The Cover Of Forbes Might Fuck Him.
Steve will bark, beg, and crawl to get his hands on Tony and he's not ashamed about any of it and it is one of the most terrifying things about him to Tony because That Is Captain America. Cap wouldn't take a knee of defeat if his life depended on it but he dropped to his knees so easily when he told him to. And as hot as Tony thinks it is, it also scares the shit out of him, because he's seen the focus Steve has in battle and the idea of him turning that focus on getting them both off is really fucking daunting. What if Steve tries to get revenge for the "get on your knees and bark" comment? He couldn't even argue that he didn't deserve it.
Steve does not want revenge and he is even less ashamed to go to his knees for someone he cares about but he only realizes how scared Tony is when he starts to drop to his knees in his gear and Tony chokes out "don't. I can't see you do it in uniform please." Steve wants to howl in frustration he wants Tony so bad and he knows that Tony's attracted to him LET HIM BARK. LET HIM BEG. WHY DOES BEING IN THE CAPTAIN UNIFORM MATTER. But he doesn't because Tony looks terrified in a way he hasn't before even though it makes him grind his teeth and grip his hands into fists so tight his leather gloves creak as he says "Okay. Whatever you need."
Steve eventually asks for another meeting with him and Tony only agrees because he thinks the other Avengers are going to be there but instead it's just Steve dropping to his knees and begging "Please put me out of my misery. Tell me to fucking stop or say yes, just do something. You win. I'll never drop to my knees again just make a decision I am dying here" and Tony doesn't know how to say stop because he really does want it so he just says "okay" and Steve has been panting after him for MONTHS now so he takes it as acceptance and Tony barely has time to yelp before Steve has his hands on his ass and is burying his face in Tony's groin with a possessive growl. Tony thinks he shouldn't find it hot but digs his fingers into Steve's hair to pull him closer anyway.
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I’m obsessed with the bit in the Hobbit films where Thranduil tells Legolas to go find Aragorn— because if you care enough to dive through the layers of obscure knowledge it takes to understand the timeline, then you’re also the exact kind of LOTR Film Nerd who knows why the moment actually doesn’t make sense.
Tiny brain: “oh cool Legolas will find Aragorn”
Small brain: “ummm actually in the first Hobbit film it says that The Hobbit take place 60 years before Bilbo’s 111th birthday in lord of the rings? So wouldn’t Aragorn be a baby?”
Medium brain: “ummm actually if you watched the extended cut of The Two Towers, it’s made clear that Aragorn is a descendant of Numenor who has an abnormally long lifespan. He is 87 at the time of Lord of the Rings; 60 years earlier, he was 27, a very reasonable age for him to have made a name for himself as a ranger.”
Large Brain: “Ummmm actually in the book it’s confirmed that there’s a twenty-year gap between Bilbo’s 111th birthday party disappearance to Frodo leaving the Shire with the Ring. The Hobbit quest happened 60 years before Bilbo’s famous birthday party. 87-60-20=7 years old. Aragorn would be a lil guy. He would not yet be Strider, the timeline makes no sense.”
Giant brain: “ummm actually the screenwriters have confirmed that the 20 year gap is not canon in the film’s universe. First, it’s really not portrayed as a 20-year-gap in the films— it’s written and shot as if it were a couple months. The screenwriters were also aware of the implications of removing it. For example, in a behind the scenes commentary they discussed how their portrayal of Frodo is much younger than the version in the book —because they removed the 20-year gap. Film!Frodo is an innocent youth going out on his own for the first time, in contrast to the book’s more mature adult— and that deeply affects his characterization throughout the trilogy.
We can consider Legolas’s journey to meet Strider an official canon confirmation that the 20-year gap did not happen in the film’s universe. So the timeline makes sense!”
Galaxy brain: “okay, but even if the timeline works with the LOTR films, this new backstory doesn’t work with the LOTR films’ portrayal of Legolas’s character.
In the Hobbit films, it’s retconned that Legolas went to find Aragorn because he was so overwhelmed by all the death he witnessed in the Battle of the Five Armies. It’s retconned that he has a mother who died when he was young, and a grief-stricken father, and that he’s constantly Angsting over both. it’s also retconned that Legolas was in unrequited love with a grieving woman who loved a dwarf tragically killed in battle. Legolas feels he can no longer stay in the Woodland Realm because of all this loss, which is why he decides to find a new purpose with Aragorn.
But in the Lord of the Rings films, part of Legolas’s character arc is that he’s witnessing death and mortality up close *for the first time in his immortal life.* He’s a fae magical immortal who’s not used to death affecting him personally. This character arc is unique to the films. (it is not reallllllly in the books, and doesn’t jive with the way Tolkien writes elves in general— but it is the way the films chose to rewrite Legolas’s storyline. )
film!Legolas reacts to Gandalf’s death with bewilderment, acting lost, as if he’s experiencing emotions that are entirely new to him. This acting decision is discussed explicitly in behind the scenes materials. Legolas has rarely encountered this kind of death, not in a way so close to him personally, so it’s hard for him to even comprehend. Legolas’s unfamiliarity with mortal death continues through Boromir’s death and into the Two Towers, where he gradually grows more worried over the lives of Aragorn/ the people of Rohan. He reacts with bewildered anger when told to leave Aragorn for dead, and then lashes out at Aragorn when he thinks that everyone at Helm’s deep will die (only to receive the response: “then I shall die as one of them.”)
This character arc ends in Return of the King, with a famous bit of dialogue that does not appear in the books. Gimli says he “never thought he’d die side by side with an elf,” and Legolas cheerfully responds “what about side by side with a friend?” Mortal death goes from something Legolas finds distant/unfamiliar, to something he accepts as a natural part of living among mortals.
This is similar to the changes the films make to Arwen’s character, vs the original book. In the films, both of the “young” elves have arcs about encountering death up close, and yet continuing to love the mortal world. The films contrast them with the “older” wearier elves like Elrond and Galadriel. Obviously this theme is more of a focal point in Arwen’s plotline, but it’s also relevant to Legolas. (And! In early drafts of the Two Towers, Arwen joined Aragorn at Helm’s Deep— I have a theory that the scenes where Legolas worries over Aragorn’s death were originally written for Arwen.)
So!
if you care enough about the Lord of the Rings films to understand that “there is no twenty year gap,” that Frodo is a young ingenue instead of middle-aged adult, that the films have their own storyline/characters/timeline separate from the books, and that therefore the timeline of Legolas meeting Strider can make sense …
….then you also probably care that Legolas had a specific character in the LoTR films, and this new backstory contradicts it.
Giving Legolas a new core motivation where “he’s overwhelmed by angst/grief from encountering too much death” undercuts his entire characterization in LOTR, which was meant to be about encountering mortal death up close for the first time. It also cheapens really impactful moments from LOTR— like Orlando Bloom’s performance after the death of Gandalf, where he really captures the idea that this fae immortal is struggling to comprehend the ordinary human emotion of grief.
And that’s why so many critics get that moment in The Hobbit wrong XD. People always try to critique it from a timeline/continuity perspective, when in reality, the timeline continuity makes perfect sense!!! The actual problem is the way it poorly attempts to retcon Legolas’s entire characterization. And IMHO that’s a much more serious flaw than a continuity error. It’s not “making a math mistake,” it’s undercutting the meaning of Legolas’s story in LOTR.
Super Mega Galaxy Brain: “nothing in the hobbit films is canon except the pieces I like”
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
Everyone keeps talking about "the writer's barely disguised fetish". But I still haven't heard about "the writer's barely disguised huge ass pet peeve"
This speaks to me so viscerally it hurts. It also helped me get modern art in general? Like. These are just lines…but they convey so much because of the words supplied. That’s awesome!
Like, I’m gonna be thinking about this one for a while now. I wonder about the lines of my own life and how tangled and lost it feels to try and understand but to think about slices of it…
there are two competing sects on this website - one that uses the word "spicy" to mean "neurodivergent" and one that uses the word "spicy" to mean "sexual content." i do not like either of them
You’ve heard of “don’t monetize your hobbies”; get ready for "don’t master your hobbies".
Your hobbies are here to help you decompress and have fun. They do not have to be disciplines you toil over for expertise, unless that is something you genuinely enjoy doing.
It’s okay to enjoy language-learning without ever becoming fluent, or even conversational. It’s okay to like playing guitar even if you only know a few clumsy songs. You can read books and never finish them, bowl without ever scoring even halfway to perfect. We’re here to explore and play, and we cannot do that if we’re chasing perfection in everything we do.
And this opens you up to the world of hobbies you're not naturally very good at.
It's natural to gravitate towards things you're good at, because being good at something is fun. But there is an entire world of hobbies out there you're extremely bad at which are also incredibly fun.
Kink belongs at Pride. I will keep writing it until people stop flinching. You can find this fic on ao3 (here). Anyway it's 8K so look out for under the cut.
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Natasha stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw Tony. She’d expected him to be getting ready for movie night, slipping into well-worn sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. They hadn’t had a real sit-down with the whole team for several weeks. If it wasn’t Avengers battles keeping from them from meeting up, away missions or business trips had. Just that morning at breakfast, Tony had been chattering on about how he’d finally gotten Bruce onto his and Clint’s side and they’d be able to bully Steve and Thor into watching Escape from New York. He’d been so excited at his victory that he’d about vibrated out of his seat.
Now, though, he was standing half-in the closet, the fingers of his right hand tapping over his chest and the arc reactor. He barely glanced in Natasha’s direction before he very carefully and deliberately took a half step to turn so more of his back was to her. He was still wearing his sleek Tom Ford that he’d put on for a business meeting earlier. He was still wearing his shiny loafers.
Natasha waited a beat, just to see if he’d speak, then said, “We can skip movie night.”
Tony made a sound of genuine distress. “I don’t want to skip movie night.”
She took a careful step toward him. “Do you think you’ll be in any condition for movie night?”
“I—” Tony began, then stopped, ducking his head. He swallowed thickly, then managed to croak out a despondent, “I don’t want to miss it.”
Natasha bent over a little so she could see his face, cataloguing the dismay and resignation in his expression before he could notice and shutter it away. It had been a long time since they’d gotten to have a team movie night. But, she was beginning to realize, it had been a long time since Tony had gotten to relax at her feet, too.
“I’ll put on the lace,” Tony said after another minute, shoulders sagging, and lifted his other hand so he could begin to unbutton his vest and shirt. His hands were trembling. It could have been because it had been so long since he’d gotten to go down. It also could have been disappointment that he was missing out on movie night, though.
Natasha sucked in a deep breath, held it for three seconds, then let it back out slowly as she stood up straight again. She crossed her arms over her chest, considering, as Tony walked over and carefully laid his jacket, vest, and shirt over the back of the nearest chair. “We can… skip the lace,” she offered after a moment.
Tony hesitated for a moment before continuing with his careful undressing, mouth turning down into an uncertain frown. “Do you not like it anymore?”
She’d miscalculated. Natasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other and uncrossed her arms, so her body language wasn’t as closed off. For good measure, she reached toward her back pocket for her phone. “I love your lace,” she assured him, pulling her phone out so he could watch her flick the lock screen open. “And I love the way the pattern shows up on your skin when I spank you.” She waited until his eyes darted to her phone screen, then swiped over to the movie night group chat, which was already beginning to buzz with food suggestions. She swiped into her emoticons.
To her immense pleasure, she got to watch his eyes dilate as her thumb punched in the ‘rope’ and ‘bunny’ emojis.
“Oh,” Tony said, then cleared his throat and carefully turned his head away, as if she hadn’t just clocked how much he enjoyed the idea just from his eyes. “Well. I mean. I could still. Wear the lace.”
“The lace is for me,” Natasha informed him, voice flat. “If they want to see it, they can come up and watch me spank you.” She pointed at the antique armoire that held all of their toys and implements with her free hand. “Your briefs are nice enough for movie night.”
Tony perked up a little, but only in a way that she would notice. “I can still go?”
Natasha spared one glance at her phone, which was now blowing up with ‘PLEASE!’s, just as she expected it to, before she looked back at him. The corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk. “I think if I didn’t bring you down, it might start a riot. Pick out a set of ropes while you’re in there,” she added as Tony swiveled toward the armoire and pulled the doors open. She walked over to sit in the chair Tony had set his clothes on, lounging back in it as she watched Tony obediently pull a rack out, fingers dancing over different colors and lengths of rope. “I’m thinking… diamonds.”
Tony’s hand pausing over a length of blue jute was the only indication that he’d heard her. She decided she didn’t need to demand a verbal answer, though. She figured that going through disappointment of missing movie night and then having it put back on the table was a lot to deal with, on top of being allowed to pivot and pick his own ropes and underwear. Normally she picked everything out. But he’d only just gotten comfortable with the fact that she thought he looked good regardless of what he was wearing; he still didn’t quite believe the rest of the team thought the same, so she wanted him to have the choice of what he wore in front of them.
She wished she could show him her phone, so he could see the texts dripping with excitement and wheedling suggestions. It wouldn’t help, though, she knew—it had taken months of her taking care of him when he was at his most vulnerable before Tony had accepted it from her, and she had more hands-on contact. Steve was next on the level of trust, she figured; he was the only one who came up to sit in on their scenes. He was never interested in playing himself, but always left a new sketch of Tony’s bound body or the welts Natasha had left on it as thanks for letting him ‘intrude.’
Still, perhaps she’d show him Clint’s inundation of ‘Me first pleeeeease’s and Bruce using the custom Hulk fist emoji to argue ‘NO ME’ in response. Just as a treat for herself.
Natasha glanced back up when she noticed Tony shimmying his hips. He was finally kicking off his slacks and carefully folding them up. She leaned back in the chair, slinging her arm over the back as she watched him push his briefs down, too. “You changing into different briefs? Not that I mind. I just think the black would make the ropes pop.”
Tony hesitated, looking down at where his briefs had gathered at his ankles. Finally, though, he looked back up at her through his eyelashes, uncertainty back in his expression. “I thought. If you were doing diamonds. Perhaps… the red thong?”
“Yeah?” Natasha tilted her head, eyes raking up and down his body as she considered whether or not she liked the idea. “…I’m not mad about it,” she finally decided, crossing her arms over her chest again and tapping her phone against her chin. “I just worry… When I do the ties, I mean, the rope’s not gonna like. Chafe your balls or anything, right?”
“…No,” Tony choked out after blinking at her for a moment. He turned back to the armoire, shoulders shaking. He managed to haltingly add, “But I’ll put on the briefs. Since you’re concerned about it.”
Natasha scowled. “Are you laughing at me?!”
“You are so intimately acquainted with my body but you still don’t know what is and isn’t gonna chafe my balls,” Tony managed between semi-hysterical giggles.
“I am rescinding permission for movie night!” Natasha exclaimed, but Tony just planted his hands on his knees and laughed harder.
.-.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Clint moaned when Natasha finally stepped off the elevator, holding Tony in her arms like the princess she liked to call him sometimes.
Natasha took a moment to feel endlessly smug. All of the hours she’d spent in the gym so she would be able to carry Tony around (and toss him around, in the bedroom) had led to this. Then she continued on to the loveseat she and Tony usually shared, because she couldn’t hold him that long, and she refused to look weak in front of them when the high of showing off was still pumping victoriously through her. She very carefully set Tony down on his feet, hands lingering on him as he weaved back and forth, trying to find his balance.
Steve’s hands twitched immediately, the same way that he did when he first set up his art supplies in the bedroom when he sat in on their scenes. He wanted to draw Tony on sight; in fact, she would probably be gifted a sketch to share with Tony by the end of the week.
Natasha couldn’t blame him. Tony looked good in most things—best in lace, but ropes were a close second. She’d taken the time to carefully twist a yellow ribbon into the knots at the base of his throat and the three making the diamond pattern on his chest, helping the red rope to bring out the olive of his skin. It had taken a little finagling, but she’d managed to get the ropes just tight enough and placed just so that his pecs gave a nice squish under her hands, and she knew Thor and Clint would like it, too. The matching diamond surrounding the bulge in his briefs added a cohesiveness to the ensemble. She grabbed the knot tied over his pelvis and jerked on it, and Tony wasn’t the only one who whimpered in response, but his, at least, was muffled behind his red ball gag.
“Let’s show them the star of the show,” Natasha cooed, using her grip around the knot to tug him around on stumbling feet so they could show off the back of the ropes around his hips.
“Holy shit,” Thor breathed, and Steve dropped his beer, speechless, as they took in how the ropes lovingly cupped each cheek, like each one was a particularly ripe peach that needed to be bitten into.
Natasha smacked her free hand over Tony’s left cheek, just for good measure, and Clint whimpered again as it jiggled before falling still. “I thought we could watch something a little mindless tonight,” she offered, palming the other cheek and squeezing until… someone whimpered again. It might have been Tony, but she couldn’t be sure. “Tony’s not good for much, and if he misses Escape from New York, he’s going to be sad.”
“We wouldn’t want Tony to be sad,” Thor agreed, but his gaze was more hungry than sympathetic.
Natasha fell back onto the loveseat and reached out to grab the ropes over his hips. Tony made a muffled yelping sound as she tugged, stumbling over both of their feet and pitching forward toward her. She caught him easily, maneuvering him around to ease him down onto his knees between her feet. “No fucking him tonight,” she said once she’d pulled his head to rest on her knee, blinking up at her with bleary eyes. She decided to ignore the groans of complaint she received for her order, carefully carding her fingers through Tony’s hair. “He’s in that weird place where he needs to be down but is also too keyed up not to worry about how he’s pleasing you.”
“Aw,” Steve said, frowning in concern. “I’ll reschedule some of our training plans. I had no idea he was so anxious.”
“Thanks, Steve,” Natasha purred, instead of admitting that she also hadn’t noticed. Tony was like a cat that way, hiding what he needed until he simply couldn’t anymore. She’d just have to be more careful next time. She looked back down at Tony, hands cradling his head so she could tip it back, force him to make eye contact with her. He blinked, slow and syrupy, pupils already blown wide. He was already almost out of it. “You can fondle him through the briefs,” she decided, and Tony let out a shuddering sigh around the ball gag in his mouth. “Draw straws or something. I don’t want a fight when he’s vulnerable.”
She heard them start shuffling around immediately and couldn’t help the corner of her mouth quirking up smugly when she saw Tony’s eyelids flutter. “Hear that, Умница? We’re going to take such good care of you.”
Tony leaned forward to lay his head on her lap, moaning quietly around the gag. Somehow, it sounded almost thankful. She decided to pet his head instead of check in. Even like this, tied up and gagged, he was still incredibly vulnerable. If she drew attention to things that made him embarrassed, he could end the scene early, and she really wanted him to have a night where he didn’t need to think—just to be a good little rope bunny who let his friends take care of him.
“I get him after the first half hour of the movie,” Bruce said, grinning widely as he came to sit beside Natasha on the loveseat. “I’ll sit here so we don’t have to move him until he’s… a little further down.”
Tony mewled a complaint, as if trying to urge them that he didn’t need that. Natasha only acknowledged it by gripping his hair tighter until he whimpered in defeat. It was her job to take care of him, and sometimes that meant ignoring his people pleasing nature, even if it made him feel bad for a minute. He’d be well under by the time it was Bruce’s turn to cuddle him, and then he wouldn’t feel so needy, instead just happily accepting anything that happened to him. She kept his hair in a tight grip for just a bit longer, as a reminder of that, then released it slowly, scratching her nails along his scalp while it was still tingling so she could feel him shiver against her legs.
Natasha spent the first half hour of Mission: Impossible gently massaging Tony’s head, focusing most of her effort at the base of his skull and around his temples. That was where he carried most of his tension, and she wanted him loose and content by the time she passed him over to Bruce.
Tony’s head was lolling between her palms when Bruce finally adjusted himself in the seat next to her, and she carefully tipped his head back to check his face. It was lax, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, and his lips were red and wet around the ball gag spreading them. His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing, wordlessly asking for something more in his mouth.
“No, Умница,” she told him firmly. “Later, when you’re more lucid.”
Tony obediently tipped his cheek into her palm and sighed quietly as he relaxed against her. He made a sound that might have been a complaint any other time, but mostly just sounded conceding, now. She felt a pang of regret. She should have been keeping a better eye on him. She’d known he hadn’t gotten down recently, that he would eventually need to, and with the way he’d finally admitted defeat and told her that he wouldn’t make it, she’d clearly missed signs, even if Tony did do his best to hide them. He’d probably give her the out of ‘too many villains attacking’ and ‘between battles and board meetings’ and whatever other excuse he could find, but she knew she would need to do better next time.
“My turn?” Bruce offered, as if she might have changed her mind after examining him.
Natasha gave Tony a fond pat on the head. “Your turn,” she agreed, letting go of Tony’s head so she could hook her arms under his and help drag him upright. She slanted him a rueful smile as she swiveled to plop Tony directly into his lap. “Do I need to set a timer on my phone?”
“Clint will know when it’s his turn,” Bruce answered, carefully situating Tony’s legs over his own and then drawing him back to rest against his chest.
Natasha was secretly glad it was Bruce, first, leaning her cheek on her hand and watching carefully for any signs of distress from either of them. She didn’t know all of Bruce’s… proclivities, but she did know that he wasn’t one for exhibitionism. If they were all in the same room, he truly seemed to just like holding Tony, feeling his weight against him. ‘It’s grounding,’ he’d explained once when Natasha had expressed concern that he felt pressured to hold him, and as she watched him tuck his face into Tony’s throat, she figured she understood, at least as much as she needed to—that Tony was basically a weighted blanket, but with the bonus of a steady and calm heartbeat. Like a cat sprawling over his chest and purring, she never said, but knew in her heart was true.
Tony seemed to melt back against Bruce, thighs spreading in the space he was given, eyes drifting shut as he turned and nuzzled against him. Bruce’s hands came to rest on his ribs, thumbs tucking under the lengths of rope there, and Tony shuddered. Bruce was holding him up, Natasha realized as Tony’s breath shuddered in his chest. Bruce was bracing Tony’s torso, so he didn’t have to sit so stiffly with the arc reactor, taking over holding his posture. Tony melted like it was better than sex and massage and being hand-fed altogether, and Bruce murmured something against his throat that made a shiver run through Tony’s body before he fell limp.
Natasha magnanimously decided not to listen in and hear what it was. That was something special from Bruce, just for Tony. She glanced over at Steve, to see if he’d been listening in, but he’d procured one of his sketchbooks while she’d been focused wholly on Tony, and she got the feeling there would be several new sketches by the next day for them to peruse.
“What’s the word on hickeys?” Clint whispered, leaning over the arm of the couch so she could hear him better.
Natasha spared a thought for checking Tony’s calendar, then decided it didn’t matter. If Pepper got mad, she’d send her an apology and a voucher to a spa day. Pepper seemed to soften up pretty quickly when Natasha was the one apologizing. “So long as he doesn’t make any objections, anything goes.”
“Yes!” Clint hissed, pumping his fist, and when Thor sat up a little straighter, clearly having eavesdropped, he gave him an air high-five across the room.
Natasha snorted in amusement, shaking her head, then turned her gaze back on Tony and Bruce. She knew that Bruce would never do anything to hurt him, but she was still feeling a little overprotective because of her missing what were probably several minute cries for help, to be taken down, to stop thinking and be taken care of.
Clint stood just as Tom Cruise decided they were going to infiltrate the CIA, making his way over carefully. Natasha watched with sharp eyes, ears already straining for any sound of distress, just in case. Clint murmured something to Bruce, like ‘you sure?’ or ‘it’s okay,’ and Bruce nodded, turning his head to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. Clint took it as the dismissal it was, carefully wedging an arm under Tony’s knees and behind his back. Tony made a sound of distress, but it was obviously because he was comfortable and didn’t want to be moved, and he didn’t get to make that decision, so Natasha said nothing.
Clint carried Tony back to his seat on the couch with only a smug grin in Natasha’s direction, and she watched as he carefully set Tony on his legs so his knees were thrown over Clint’s thighs, pulling him back to lay over his chest much like Bruce had. He nudged his hand under Tony’s chin, and Tony tipped his head back over his shoulder obediently, eyes fluttering as he tried to decide to melt into it or tense up.
Clint murmured a clear and fond ‘good boy’ before he turned his head and bit down on Tony’s throat, making him jerk and whine against the gag between his teeth. Natasha tensed, but finally, the whine registered as a complaint rather than a desire for Clint to actually stop, so she sat back in her seat again.
Clint wasn’t one to waste time, especially when he had to share, and Natasha bit back a smirk when she watched him spread his knees apart, forcing Tony’s thighs open wide. It did a good job of showing off the diamond of the ropes around his groin, how they met between his cheeks to give them more definition. His hand slipped down, fingers trailing over the ropes reverently, following them down to where they met just below Tony’s balls. Then Clint pressed his hand down, palm rubbing over Tony’s cock, fingers expertly curling back up under his balls so his hips jerked as if to escape.
“Gonna have you humping my hand by the time I gotta pass you off to Thor,” Clint promised over the whines and squeals of complaint escaping Tony’s gag.
Natasha watched Tony’s eyes widen sightlessly, blush beginning to spread from his cheeks down to his throat, as if the idea had never occurred to him. She decided not to say anything, instead cataloguing each sound slipping past the ball gag, each movement as Clint slid an arm around his chest to hold him in place as he started rubbing his cock in earnest. He’d probably come well before it was Thor’s turn; even ignoring the fact that they hadn’t gotten to play lately, they hadn’t had the energy to have sex. She got the feeling that no one would mind, though, eyes darting over as Steve frantically turned the page in his sketchbook to a clean one and then focused back on Tony.
She got the feeling that Tony wouldn’t mind, either, watching as his hips began to shake, as if he was trying to fight the urge to hump into Clint’s grip. He’d lose to his urges eventually. He always did.
Clint trailed his fingers along the rope again, ignoring Tony’s whimper of complaint so he could hook them in the rope and pull, and Tony’s toes curled in response as it tugged the ropes between his cheeks tight. “Shame these ropes make it impossible to rub over your hole,” Clint grumbled, tugging again, then let it drop so he could put his hand back on Tony’s cock. “You’re always a sucker for your hole getting played with.”
Natasha hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged, smirking a little. “I mean. Just because it’s covered doesn’t mean you can’t play with it.” She preened in her seat as everyone turned to look at her, dumbfounded, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “I always think about Tony’s pleasure when he’s in the ropes.”
Clint stared at her, then reached down for the ropes again, tugging them up tight, and Tony let out a muffled keen, eyes rolling back, hips jerking up to try and escape the pressure. “Is there a plug in our pretty bunny?” he asked, not letting up at all, and Tony’s thighs quivered over his knees, hips twitching uselessly as Clint spread his own so he couldn’t get leverage anymore.
Natasha shrugged again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Clint stared at her for a moment longer, then let go of the rope, and Tony fell limp as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut. “Since I can’t take it out to fuck him, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he muttered, turning to latch onto Tony’s throat again as he wrapped his fingers around Tony’s cock and began stroking him fast enough that Natasha genuinely feared fabric burn on him.
Tony jerked and whined in Clint’s lap, attempting to blink tears from his eyes and mostly failing as they instead rolled down his red cheeks. Natasha watched him for a moment, concerned, but he wasn’t saying anything that resembled his safe word, and his eyes weren’t blinking an SOS either. She allowed herself to relax. It appeared he was only overwhelmed. Clint had that effect on people. Or, well, he had that effect on Tony. He liked to tout that the circus had taught him more than how to shoot arrows, and no matter how much Tony wheedled or demanded, Clint never explained—only ever promised to show him.
Natasha could almost feel sorry for him, if Tony didn’t bring it upon himself every time.
“Will you move your hand a little to the left,” Steve said, and Natasha watched, astounded, as Clint obliged, twisting his wrist into what was clearly an uncomfortable position.
“What the fuck,” she began, more air than word.
Bruce nudged her, and she looked at him to see his smile had gone wry and amused. “Oh, Steve gives us copies of his sketches if we do him favors. He makes listening to his requests really easy.”
Natasha tipped her head, considering. Steve had never asked her if that was okay, but then, she figured he didn’t really need to. It was his art, even if the subject technically belonged to her.
Tony made a sound, high and reedy, and Natasha turned her gaze back to him just in time to watch Tony throw his head back over Clint’s shoulder. His hips jerked up, pressing his cock more insistently into Clint’s hand, and Clint helpfully tightened his grip around him.
“You really did get him to start humping your hand,” Natasha observed, raising her eyebrows as she watched Tony’s muscles strain, hips rutting forward without shame. “Poor Умница. So needy.” She tipped her head as Tony made another reedy noise, drool beginning to drip out from around his gag, the corners of his lips. She’d have to make sure to get some water into him soon. It would probably be better to take the gag out, anyway. It wasn’t like his begging did much—everyone already knew to ask her permission.
Clint finally reached down with his other hand to tug at the ropes again, and Tony made a choked sound, then keened, hips stuttering as if he didn’t know which way to move, up into Clint’s hand or down against the rope. As quickly as every one of his muscles clenched, though, he sagged, twitching with aftershocks as Clint gave his cock a few more strokes, just for good measure.
Natasha let Clint paw at his softening cock until Tony’s noises turned plaintive, then stood, slanting him a sharp look. “Enough.”
“Fine,” Clint grumbled, sliding his hand up over Tony’s quivering abs. Belatedly, he allowed the rope to slip from his fingers. Tony’s head flopped back over Clint’s shoulder, chest heaving, and Clint wasted no time sucking another hickey into his throat while he had the chance.
“Mouth only now,” Natasha added, pointing at Clint sternly, and waited until she got a reluctant eye roll before she turned to head toward the kitchen. She lingered by the cabinets for a moment, then decided against a snack. She could feed him once he was tucked securely in bed and didn’t have sharp eyes watching him at his most vulnerable. She grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, even though he’d probably only be able to finish one, then grabbed a fistful of napkins from the table as an afterthought. Once properly armed, she returned to the common room.
Clint had licked his way up to Tony’s jaw, where he was leaving a spectacular bruise. Natasha couldn’t help a sigh. Pepper would be less understanding about that one. Maybe she’d make sure a new pair of shoes were waiting for her after the spa treatment.
Natasha grabbed Clint’s hair and tugged, a warning that she wasn’t afraid to wrench his head aside. Luckily, Clint seemed as reluctant to upset Tony as she was, and he pulled his mouth away with sigh. “Keep your hands still,” she warned, dumping the water bottles beside him on the couch so she could cradle Tony’s head between her hands.
“Fine,” Clint agreed easily, placing one hand on Tony’s stomach and the other on the inside of a still-trembling thigh.
Natasha scratched her nails over Tony’s scalp until his breath steadied and his eyes fluttered shut. Once she was certain he was relaxed again, she slid her hands back, fingers tracing the leather of the belts keeping the ball gag in place until they came to the clasp. “Here we go, Умница. Let’s get some water in you.” The gag slipped from Tony’s lips with a slick, wet sound, followed by a long, shuddering breath. Natasha let him take a few deep breaths, dabbing the drool from his trembling mouth as his chest heaved, before she turned and cracked open one of the bottles.
“Is he gonna choke like this?” Clint asked quietly.
“Not if you hold his head up properly,” Natasha scoffed, and Clint rolled his eyes but obediently lifted his hands to cradle either side of Tony’s head. She pressed the backs of her fingers to Tony’s chin, eyes softening. “Умница, open up for me.”
Tony blinked, a slow up-and-down of clumped-together eyelashes that sent two more tears rolling down his cheeks. Then the order registered, and his swollen lips parted. Natasha carefully tipped the water bottle to his mouth, only allowing little sips to pass into it. Tony was so out of it, she sincerely worried he might choke accidentally. Even the coldness from the fridge couldn’t shock him from where he was clearly floating, a perfect little doll for her to use as she saw fit.
Tony twitched his head away uselessly once he’d sipped half the bottle, but Natasha took it as the ‘no more’ he meant it to be, twisting the lid back on easily and setting both bottles on the coffee table. Mission: Impossible was rolling its credits behind her, and she considered whether two hours should be the limit. She had him lean forward so she could check the ropes binding his wrists, but his hands were still warm, and he flexed his fingers when she tapped on them. He even managed to puff out a voiceless ‘please’ against the side of her face, eyes wide and pleading.
Natasha sighed, unable to help the corner of her mouth curving up. “Fine. But we’re going upstairs after Thor gets his turn.” He smiled, wide and mindless, and she leaned in to press a kiss to his lips before she carefully scooped him up out of Clint’s lap. She turned on one heel and took a step towards the other loveseat that Steve and Thor were sharing, then deposited Tony onto Thor’s lap before she could accidentally drop him.
Thor’s hand immediately came up to squeeze one of Tony’s pecs, massaging the flesh slow and considering. Finally, he trapped Tony’s nipple between two fingers and tugged until Tony arched his back and whined. “I want to fuck his thighs,” he said simply as Tony twitched and mewled under his hand.
‘I said no fucking’ was on the tip of Natasha’s tongue, but then she watched Thor’s other hand stroke the soft, pale inside of Tony’s left thigh, and she took a moment to think about it. She’d already informed Tony that she wasn’t letting his holes get used tonight, that she could sit on his face or peg him the next day, and while he’d been disappointed, he understood. But using his thighs as a makeshift fleshlight wasn’t using his holes. And Tony was already sunk into the headspace of ‘pleasure object’ rather than ‘needy sub.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow. “And you just happened to bring lube down with you to team movie night?”
“Natasha,” Thor scoffed, but there was an edge of amusement in the twinkle of his eye. “I always have lube. The oil I use on the leather of my hammer has many uses.”
Natasha didn’t choke on the arousal that filled her at his lascivious smirk, but barely. “Fine, but I’m taking him back to the penthouse after,” she repeated gruffly. If she’d had a moment, she probably could have come up with a more biting retort, but sometimes she had to admit that Thor had the upper hand after a thousand years of living.
Steve bolted from his seat beside Thor to sit next to Clint on the couch so he could get a better view, hands shaking as he flipped to a clean sheet of paper. Natasha almost felt sorry for him—his erection looked painful where it was pressing up against the seam of his jeans. Perhaps she’d ask Tony if he wanted Steve to fuck him tomorrow. He’d mentioned that he enjoyed being pegged by her, but sometimes he missed the sensation of cum filling his belly and dripping out of his hole throughout the day.
But that was a question for later, when Tony was lucid and could accept whether or not Steve was comfortable with it. She dropped into the seat Steve had vacated, eyes sharp as she watched Thor grab the flask of oil he used on Mjolnir’s leather handle and pour a healthy amount into his other palm. As he smoothed it over the inside of Tony’s left thigh, his skin began to glisten, almost glowing in the dimmed lights of the living room. Tony let out a quiet huff, tipping his head back against Thor’s shoulder with a quiet moan as he massaged the muscle of his thigh in time with the other hand squeezing his pec. Natasha couldn’t help but feel pleased that her art was being appreciated; she’d had to place the ropes just so to get a little give to his chest with the way the ropes sat around the reactor, and Tony was in just the right headspace that her blasé ‘so they can play with your tits’ had made him blush in arousal instead of shame.
Thor switched hands, rubbing oil onto the inside of Tony’s right thigh as his other hand reached up, massaging his other pec for a moment before very deliberately rubbing his thumb over his nipple. “Would have looked better with clamps,” he said, and Tony shuddered.
Natasha swallowed thickly. She’d thought about it, but she hadn’t wanted to have to take them off and ruin the headspace Tony was in. His chest had been her biggest obstacle to overcome as they learned each other’s limits—parts of it had little to no sensation with the damage that had been done to it by the shrapnel and reactor. Conversely, while he didn’t have a lot of feeling, if she kept his nipples clamped too long, it could make his entire chest hurt for days, and not in a fun ‘I’m reminded of the deliciously kinky sex we had’ way. At this point, fifteen minutes was as long as she dared to leave them, and that would have disrupted Tony with whoever’s lap he sat on. She’d just wanted him to relax, comfortable and warm, without having to worry if he’d have to take muscle relaxers to stop his chest spasming in the coming week.
Thor seemed to notice how uncomfortable she was, because he offered her a kind smile. Somehow, though, his voice still dripped with sex as he added, “Another time, maybe.” He pressed his lips to Tony’s ear. “Are you ready, Anthony?”
Tony’s lips shaped another breathless ‘please,’ rubbing his slick thighs together. Thor lifted him easily so he could shove his sweatpants down, then settled Tony back in his lap. Tony made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and Natasha would bet it was from how casually Thor hefted his weight rather than from feeling Thor’s thick cock pushing up between his thighs.
Natasha spared a glance to the others as Thor gripped Tony’s thighs to keep the grip around his cock tight and began bouncing him on his lap. Bruce was scrolling through movie options, though she’d expected as much; he’d mentioned that ever since he’d gotten the other guy, his libido was thoroughly tanked. It was why no one really argued when he wanted to take his turn first. Clint was watching them with rapt attention, elbows on his knees so he could lean forward without falling off the couch. Steve looked completely overwhelmed, mouth gaping open and his pencil having fallen from his lax fingers. She considered reaching out and closing his mouth for him, but as she looked back at Thor, watching as he bounced Tony easily on his lap, she couldn’t really blame him.
“Can he come again?” Thor murmured, slanting her a considering look.
Natasha hummed, watching as drool began to drip from the corner of Tony’s mouth, eyes half-open and sightless. “Probably not. He was really keyed up when we were changing clothes for movie night. Almost didn’t wanna let him come down.”
“Poor thing,” Thor cooed, and any other time, Tony probably would have bristled at the tone. Instead, he just let out a little hiccup, stomach spasming with the effort of holding himself upright. Thor gamely lifted one hand to his chest, taking his weight and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck when he sighed in relief.
Natasha got up to grab the half-empty water bottle again. Tony was reaching his limit, and she wanted him to finish the bottle at least before she took him back upstairs. It would be easier to do it with Thor cradling him up for her like Clint had. She turned back to them and bit back an offended squawk when she found that in the ten seconds her back had been turned, Thor had apparently fucked himself to completion, cum splattered up against Tony’s belly and across his thighs. Somehow his cock still looked impressive even as it slowly went flaccid between Tony’s trembling thighs. “What the fuck. You didn’t even make a sound.”
Thor blinked at her placidly even as he scratched over Tony’s scalp like he was a particularly needy cat. “Sometimes when you’re being tracked by the enemy, your pleasure has to be quick and quiet.”
“I can’t fucking stand you,” Natasha hissed, because she was not going to think about Thor and some faceless person getting off while their enemies advanced on them without Tony there to howl questions at him. Watching him get worked up was part of the fun, but he also felt incredibly left out when he realized he didn’t know something the others did. While interesting, she now had the task of making sure Tony knew that Thor apparently fucked while enemies chased him, which wasn’t difficult, but she’d have to field questions and his realization that she didn’t chase after answers because he’d been vulnerable.
Well. That was all part of caring for Tony, she figured, sighing.
Tony drank most of the bottle before he started letting the water just run out of his mouth, and at least Natasha got the pleasure of hearing Thor yelp in surprise as it splattered onto his dick still nestled between Tony’s thighs. She put the cap back on the water bottle and tossed it aside. She could get more water in him after he was cleaned up and settled. Carefully, ignoring Thor’s grumbling, she slid her arms under Tony’s knees and just under his shoulder blades and delicately heaved him up into her arms.
“God, that’s so hot,” Clint moaned again, sagging in his seat.
Natasha took a moment to preen, because it was hot that she could pick Tony up, and she worked hard to be able to. Then she turned and headed to the elevator, because she wasn’t going to let them know that it was effort and carefully planned weight distribution that got her this far.
“Do you need any help?” Bruce called after her. He would, sometimes, when Tony was especially floppy and she needed help getting him clean.
Natasha hummed as she stepped into the waiting elevator, glancing down at Tony. His eyes were heavy-lidded and vacant, swollen lips parted to let out soft panting sounds as he worked to center himself and catch his breath. He’d probably be a little too floppy, but he also looked so out of it that she didn’t want too many people looking at him while he was. “No. Not tonight.”
“I’ll bring by breakfast tomorrow,” Steve offered, leaning over the back of the couch, a questioning lilt to his voice as his eyes raked over Tony’s limp form.
‘Breakfast’ usually meant donuts, coffee, and whatever sketches he’d finished for Tony to peruse. Natasha considered this, then offered, “Perhaps brunch,” which meant ‘later, with actual eggs and bacon, or at least a slathered bagel.’
Steve offered her a thumbs up, and the doors slid closed. Natasha turned her attention to Tony, watching him blink and breathe and simply exist in her arms. She took a moment to feel guilty that it had gotten to this point, then quickly brushed it off. Tony wouldn’t want her to feel guilty when he’d been actively hiding his needs, and quite frankly, she couldn’t do her best to help him if she felt bad. She’d just have to be more cognizant of how much downtime he got. The guilt would turn to determination by morning.
Tony whined loudly when she laid him over the arm of the comfy chair in his room, wiggling uselessly, and she gave him a firm pat on the ass, just a hint of sting, to warn him. Once he fell still again, she reached out and nimbly picked the ropes free from around his arms, massaging from elbow to finger tip before she carefully stretched his arms forward, so he was reaching to the other arm rest. Tony whined again, back spasming as the muscles that had been locked in place for the tie finally got relief, relaxing and stretching. She rubbed his shoulders and back briefly, just to get the circulation going again, then hooked her hands under his arms so she could manhandle him into a sitting position.
This was her favorite part, she thought, carefully unwinding lengths of rope from around Tony’s limp body. He always managed to peel his eyes open and watch her hands, even as his body twitched and jerked in relief as it finally got to relax. It was the most vulnerable he ever was, unable to even move without help, having to let her take care of him. Being tied was a choice he made and allowed. At this point, he barely had the strength to blink, and Natasha always made sure she took the best care of him then.
“Look pretty good, all slick and sticky,” Natasha offered before she grabbed the knots over his hips and tugged him down in the seat so she could unwind his lower ropes. Tony barely made a sound, more a burst of air being knocked out of him than actual complaint, so she continued, “Maybe we can try out free use. Just for the team, of course. What do you think? Kneeling at my feet until one of the team comes over and asks me for use of your mouth or ass?”
Tony might a soft groaning sound, but that could have been from her dropping the ropes to the floor and grabbing his briefs to try and pull them down. Pivoting quickly, she pulled a knife from her thigh and simply slit his briefs down the sides, so she could pull the front piece off while the bottom stayed on the seat. She grabbed the pack of cleaning wipes from the table next to the chair and carefully cleaned his sticky groin, then used another handful to clean the oil and Thor’s cum from his lightly-chafed thighs. A shower or bath would probably be easier, but she didn’t want to risk a flashback while he was so far under, so this would have to do until she could coax him into the shower tomorrow by promising a quickie in the bathroom.
“Are you ready for this plug to come out, Умница?” she asked gently, placing her hands firmly on his hips.
Tony blinked at her slowly, a smidge of awareness entering his gaze. She waited patiently. She knew he could easily keep it in for hours longer, especially if he was sleeping, but she didn’t want him to feel overwhelmed. She pressed her thumbs in over his hip bones, hoping to ground him further. If he couldn’t answer, she’d take it out and explain it was for safety reasons tomorrow. If he could answer her, though, she’d feel better about just getting him into bed and feeding him some cheese crackers between sips of water until he fell asleep.
“…In,” Tony managed roughly.
Natasha relaxed a little. It wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for, but Tony knew his limits better than anyone. “Okay,” she answered simply, and then, “I’m moving you to the bed.”
“Mmh,” Tony managed before she carefully pulled him up into her arms again. She stumbled a bit next to the bed, and she cursed herself for not accepting her help, but only for a moment—Tony made no noise of fright, and he blinked up at her placidly as she set him down on the bed a little harder than she meant. “Hi.”
Natasha couldn’t help the wide smile it brought to her lips. “Hi, Умница. You were such a good boy for me.” Tony smiled back wordlessly, and she carefully ran her hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you sure about the plug staying in overnight, Tony?”
Tony blinked at her again, just as sated and quiet as he had before. “Maybe Steve can take it out at ‘brunch.’”
Natasha let out a bark of laughter before she could stop herself. “Ha! Tony,” she rallied sternly. “That’s something to discuss in private first instead of just asking him.”
“We’ll have time,” Tony grumbled, even as he wiggled down upward so his head was on his pillow at the angle he preferred for eating and drinking. “He always takes time to make breakfast in bed for me after nights like this. He hand-squeezes the orange juice.”
“He never gives me hand-squeezed orange juice,” Natasha grumbled, taking a moment to shed her own clothes. She grabbed a box of cheese crackers and a water bottle and walked around to clamber onto the other side of the bed.
Tony opened his mouth, and kept it open until Natasha rolled her eyes and delicately placed a cracker onto his tongue. He chewed carefully and swallowed, then answered, “Maybe if you got worked over by a mean Domme, he’d let you have some.”
“Oh, so I’m mean?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but kept anything that could be even vaguely considered negative out of her tone.
“Didn’t even let me come twice,” Tony mumbled before she pushed another cracker into his mouth.
Natasha scoffed. “You couldn’t come again tonight if your life depended on it, brat. Eat your fucking cracker.”
“I could,” Tony muttered, mostly to himself, but let her follow the cracker with a sip of water without struggle. “Can I at least use your boobs as pillows?”
“If that’ll make you stop whining like a child,” Natasha answered magnanimously. “Cracker.”
Tony ate another cracker. “You could at least have gotten donuts.”
“I felt like we had powdered sugar in the bed for weeks even after changing the sheets, so no, that’s not happening,” Natasha said. She shoved another cracker in his mouth. “If you’re good and finish this bottle of water, I’ll tell Steve to bring exactly one of your favorite donuts for brunch.”
Tony sighed the sigh of the truly put upon but took a larger sip of water on the next go.
After decades of being trained to only speak when spoken to (and still being punished for speaking at all more often than not) and enduring an unspeakable amount of brain damage, Bucky doesn’t speak much. At first, Steve is nothing but heartbroken for his friend. He remembers the days before the war when Bucky would talk and talk, telling Steve all sorts of stories like they had no end. And when he sang… It was like heaven to Steve’s ears, hearing problems be damned. Of course, Bucky got quieter during the war, but he wasn’t anywhere near as silent as he is now. (Hell, he doesn’t even make any noise while walking now. It’s a little unnerving and Steve has been jump scared in his own home more times than he’d care to admit.)
Steve is nothing but adaptable and supportive, though. For a while, he simply communicates with Bucky via interpreting his looks and gestures alone. He slips up and misunderstands Bucky every now and then, but they get along so much better than they reasonably should this way. No one else understands how they do it so easily. When Steve’s asked, he just shrugs and says, “I’ve known him since I was six.”
It isn’t too long though before Steve reveals that he’s learned some sign language to teach Bucky. To give him his voice back, in a way. Bucky picks it up with little issue. After learning the basics, the first thing he signs to Steve is, “Punk.” Steve is so surprised that he laughs. And laughs and laughs. By the time he’s got himself under control, he’s treated to the sight of one of Bucky’s rare smiles, warm and full of affection.
It takes a while, but the next time Steve sees that smile is when he and Bucky are alone in Steve’s bedroom, sitting on his bed. They’re close, so close. The air is thick with a tension that’s always existed between them, ready to burst now. Bucky’s eyes are trained on Steve’s lips and he keeps signing one thing, over and over. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” When they kiss, it’s everything Steve could’ve dreamed of and his heart soars when he hears Bucky make a sound, a soft little moan. When they finally part, Bucky’s smiling so brightly that Steve is helpless to fight back a smile of his own.
“Love…you,” Bucky whispers. It’s so quiet even Steve’s heightened hearing hardly picks it up. If his heart was soaring before, now it is singing.
“I love you, too,” he whispers back, reverent and so, so fucking grateful.
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